Bad Night at Black Rock
by darkorangecat
Summary: BA and Murdock of the A-Team find a young Sam and Dean battling a spirit in an adjoining hotel room. They have quite an adventure. AU/Rewritten through chapter 19
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters from "The A-Team" or "Supernatural". This story is purely a work of fiction inspired by the characters in these TV shows and challenges posted on the A-Team Fan Fiction website.

**A/N**: AU. Crossover. "Supernatural" timeline is pre-series, Dean is 8 and Sam is 4, putting the year at about 1987, "A-Team" would be in the final season of the series. The setting is a hotel room in a small town in Southern California and the surrounding mountains. A Gwyllion is a spirit that leads travelers astray (information can be found about this creature online). The spirit that haunts the hotel is one that I created through online research of a number of different types of ghosts and is an original creation.

This was inspired by the following challenges posted on the A-Team Fan Fiction website:

**Combination Challenge** from Cap'n (The story has to begin with the line... There was a loud bang... and end with the line "I love you.")

**BA As The Hero Challenge** from Kathleen (nanniemouse)

**Favorite TV Scene Challenge** from Cap'n (Take your favorite scene from any TV show and rewrite it so one or more of the A-team members appears in it).

These challenges have not been met full-on, but have been combined and modified to fit my whim.

**Warnings: **May contain some coarse language and violence.

* This disclaimer and these notes apply throughout the course of the story.

* * *

Prologue

Room 102

"Dean," John whispered to his eldest son not wanting to wake Sammy, though he would have loved to get a hug from him before he left, he also knew that it would be hard to look into his youngest son's eyes and then leave.

"Dean!" He hated having to wake his son so early (it was barely six am and they had just gotten into the hotel room at two am), but Bobby would be there any minute to pick him up and he needed to make sure that Dean knew what he had to do while he was gone.

"Yes, sir," Dean responded sleepily.

"Bobby will be here any minute; while I'm gone you are responsible for Sammy. Keep him safe and take care of him. Make sure that you keep the salt lines intact and that nothing happens to your brother. Try to keep him entertained inside the hotel room. We don't need nosey motel guests wondering why two young kids are out without a parent. We should be back within a week. There's some money in an envelope in the top dresser drawer. It should last you the week and longer. We're taking Bobby's truck. I'll leave the Impala here."

John handed the car keys to Dean who took them with a look of awe on his tired face. Had his dad actually given him the keys to the Impala? John took in the look of wonder on his son's face and chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair.

"If Bobby and I aren't back within ten days, call Pastor Jim. Tell him we went after a Gwyllion in the San Jacinto Mountains," John ordered his son who had managed to sit up in bed. Dean was still looking at the car keys, tracing them with his fingers.

"Dean, quit playing with the keys and look at me!" John admonished his son, who quickly dropped the keys in his lap and looked at his dad with shame in his eyes.

Though it pained John, he didn't have time to comfort his son. He had to make sure that Dean would do everything he told him. It was the only way that he would feel comfortable, and less guilty about leaving his two young sons alone in a hotel room.

"Sorry dad." Dean was more awake now. He looked down. "I'll take care of Sammy, and, if you and Uncle Bobby don't come back in ten days, I'll call Pastor Jim. I'll make sure that the salt lines are kept good and Sammy and I'll stay inside as much as possible. Is it okay for us to go to the park down the road a bit some afternoons?"

Dean looked up hoping that his dad would allow that. Sammy would be hard to keep entertained if he had to keep him in the room for an entire week, or longer if his dad and Uncle Bobby didn't return on time. He really hoped that he wouldn't have to call Pastor Jim.

"Sure." John smiled at his son, just as a knock sounded on the door.

"Daddy?" Sammy struggled to get out of bed.

Half asleep he stumbled over to give John a hug around his legs as Bobby opened the door to the room, careful of the salt lines that he knew John and probably Dean had laid down the moment they had arrived at the hotel. Seeing his Unca' Bobby, Sammy ran over to the man and was hoisted up into his strong arms and whirled around before the grizzled man placed him back down on his feet. John mused at how his son could be such a ball of energy upon waking, he felt a twinge of guilt as he thought of Dean not being able to go back to sleep now that Sammy was awake. He knew that Sammy's energy would last up until just after lunch when he might be enticed to take a short nap.

"Sammy," John knelt down so that he was eye level with his son, "your Uncle Bobby and I are going to go on a hunting trip. Your brother Dean is in charge. Listen to him." Giving his son a quick hug, he stood, and, grabbing a duffle bag from the bed near the door, he joined Bobby.

"John." Bobby played with the bill of his baseball cap and looked between Sam, who stood where John had left him, and Dean who had just stepped out of the bathroom where he had gone to get ready for the day.

"Yes?" John had his hand on the door, ready to leave.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave these two here on their own. We could put the hunt off for a couple of days and you could bring them to Pastor Jim's."

"We'll be okay Uncle Bobby." Dean hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. "I can take care of Sammy and me."

"I know you can kid." Bobby smiled at Dean who stood so sure of himself, but turned a frown on John.

How the man could leave his boys on their own so much, he would never understand. Sure, losing his wife in such a horrific manner – burning on the ceiling of their youngest son's nursery – was quite an impetus, but it seemed to Bobby that the man's obsession could cost him something far more important – his sons.

John treated his oldest son like he was a soldier. Dean, in turn, followed his father's orders and acted as a father to his younger brother. He had cared for Sammy since their mother died. Bobby didn't like it, but he knew that John could not be reasoned with; he still had a sore jaw from when he had confronted the man two weeks ago. Sighing, he threw a look back at the boys and followed John out of the hotel room. The sun was just beginning to make its way out of the valley.

Room 101

"Hand over the keys to the van BA." Hannibal grinned waking his Sergeant, cigar dangling out of his mouth even at this early hour.

It was barely six am, BA noted, looking at the alarm clock next to the bed. Growling, the man reached over to hand the keys to the colonel.

"Whatchyou doin' up so early in the morning?" He noted that Hannibal was already dressed and started to get up. "We goin' somewhere?"

Normally the entire team got up early, well with the exception of Face that is, but they had just made it into town a couple of hours ago and BA had hoped they'd be able to get a few more hours of sleep before they had to move on. Groaning he made his way over to the bathroom.

"No, just Face and I," the colonel answered, a platinum smile on his face.

BA whirled around looking for the young lieutenant. Surprised, he found the man dressed (impeccably as always), sitting in a chair next to the door, a newspaper in his hands. He looked up from his paper and smiled broadly at BA who glowered in return.

"How come it's just you two?" BA asked in confusion.

"Well, Face and I are going to get us some of the things that we need for our next assignment. It shouldn't take us more than a day or two." Hannibal twirled the cigar in his mouth, waiting for the outburst he knew was going to come from BA.

"What? Why can't we all go? Wait a minute." BA's eyes narrowed dangerously as he said, "You wouldn't," the last words coming out in a deadly whisper, he walked over to colonel. "No way! Hannibal, you can't leave me here with this fool." He gestured behind him to the bed where Murdock had slept the night.

"Come on BA, you know you love me." Murdock sat up in the bed a bright grin on his face, brown eyes dancing in delight. Stretching out his arms, he stood to give the big man a hug. BA backed away from the t-shirt clad man.

"Hannibal, get him away from me," he demanded, "I'm gonna kill him. You can't leave us here on our own."

"Now BA, it will only be a couple of days at most." Hannibal placed a hand on BA's shoulder to placate him.

"Why can't all of us go?" BA asked.

"Because," Face folded his paper and put it down on the table, "this particular scam requires finesse and, well, um," he stuttered, "quite frankly, BA, you would stick out. And Murdock," he looked over at the balding man who had a puppy dog grin on his face as he hovered near BA, "well, you're just not the right fit for the job." Having finished explaining, Face got up and went outside to wait for the colonel.

"BA," Hannibal waited until the man looked him in the eyes, "I'm leaving you in charge. Take care of things here. Try not to go out of the hotel any more than you have to, we don't need to raise any suspicions. Here, take this money." The colonel pushed some bills into the man's hand. "It should last until we get back which should be around noon a couple of days from now."

With that, Hannibal took his hand off the sergeant's shoulder and headed out the door to join Face. Murdock went to the window, peeking around the curtain. He watched as Hannibal and Face strode to the van. The colonel was definitely on the jazz, he could tell by the way the man walked, with a bit of a skip to his step, like a little boy about to begin a treasure hunt. Murdock grinned.

He turned his head slightly when he heard a door slam. Frowning in curiosity, he watched as two men strode over to an old white truck. One, dark haired, carried a bulky green duffel bag; the other, baseball cap parked firmly on his head, seemed to be arguing with the dark haired man. Murdock was intrigued. Both men were dressed in what looked like hunting gear, and though they looked like they weren't getting along, they both got into the white truck and drove off together. Maybe they were like him and BA, Murdock thought.

"Get outta that window," BA barked.

Now that the fool was up, BA realized that he would have a long day ahead of him. He doubted the man would go back to sleep and, though BA wanted to, he would be unable to go back to sleep and leave the unstable man to his own devices. Hannibal would pay dearly for this, BA vowed.

"Let's play charades," Murdock said cheerfully, jumping up and down.

_Oh no, here it starts,_ BA groaned inwardly, willing himself not to walk over and strangle the man. _Hannibal will pay dearly_, BA's eyes darkened as he thought of the ways in which he would exact his vengeance upon the older man, knowing that his revenge would have to be subtle. Clenching a fist, he smiled and headed to the bathroom to take a shower, leaving an ignored and slightly disheartened Murdock in his wake.


	2. Violence Against Children

See prologue for disclaimer.

* * *

Violence against Children

There was a loud bang coming from the next room. It sounded to BA like the occupants in the hotel room that happened to adjoin theirs, were in some sort of trouble. Maybe he should go check on them in spite of the Colonel's orders to stay put. When the banging got louder and he heard a cry of anguish coming from the room, BA nearly pulled the door to their hotel room off the hinges in his haste to check out the alarming sounds. Ignoring Murdock's astonished cry, he raced to the room next door and pounded on it, hoping that whoever the assailant was would stop the assault.

"Sam! Sammy!"

"Dean, I'm okay."

BA pounded on the door again, hearing the muffled voices within. _Enough of this_, he thought as he wrenched at the door, surprised that it came open freely. Apparently it hadn't been locked. _What is this lining the bottom of the door?_ BA wondered as he stepped over the broken line of salt and looked within the dark room.

What he saw caused BA to narrow his eyes and growl low in his throat. A young, black haired boy about four years old, lay sprawled on the floor; a large red gash graced his pasty white forehead. Towering above him, a worried look on his face was another young boy with close-cropped, brown hair. His cheek sported a dark purple colored bruise. Neither boy seemed to notice that BA had stepped into the room as the brown haired youth reached a hand to help the black haired kid off the floor. The room was in shambles, clothes strewn everywhere, and it looked like the lamps and mirrors had been shattered as well.

"What happened in here?" BA growled.

Both boys started at the sudden voice. The dark haired boy recovered his voice first, "Um, well, um…" he trailed off unable to come up with the words to describe what had taken place just moments before.

"Where'd he go?" BA took a step toward the two. The brown haired boy stepped between BA and the smaller, black haired youth as if to protect him.

"Did he go out the window?" BA looked around the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the bathroom, noting that the window was closed. He was truly puzzled. What exactly had happened in this room and why was every opening to the outside lined with salt?

"No one else was here, we just got into a bit of a brotherly argument," the brown haired kid smiled in a way that appeared conciliatory, gesturing self-consciously at the mess around them. "You know how brothers fight."

BA narrowed his eyes at the boy, guessing him to be about eight years old. He glanced beyond the kid and took in the appearance of the younger child behind him who was shaking slightly and white as a ghost. He needed to sit down before he fainted, "you okay kid?"

"Yeah," the black haired boy nodded, "I'm okay." Smiling at BA, he ran a hand through his untidy hair.

"You oughta sit down," BA suggested, "looks like you're about to fall over."

The young brown haired boy turned to face his brother and ushered him into a sitting position on the bed, "Aw Sammy," he frowned, "you okay?"

It didn't sound to BA like they had just gotten into a fight. There'd be no way to turn off the anger that quickly, he surmised.

"Hey, big man," Murdock stood hesitantly in the doorway, a frown on his face, "what's going on here?"

"I was just about to find out," BA said while cracking his knuckles as he watched the brothers warily.

"Look man, I said that we were okay. Just go back to your room and leave us alone!" The brown haired youth stood, hands clenched in fists at his side, a look of anger on his face. It was the look of worry in the kid's hazel eyes that kept BA from stepping closer.

"Dean," the one called Sammy pleaded, "Dean! I don't' feel so good. "

Dean turned toward his brother, "Sammy, you okay?" He ran a hand through his short hair, the worry evident in his voice as he took a seat next to his brother on the bed and touched the red gash on his forehead.

"Ouch," Sam scrunched his eyes up in pain, flinching at the touch.

"I'd better go get the first aid kit, you stay right here," Dean stood and wavered on his feet, dizzy for a second. The intruder in their room suddenly forgotten in concern for his baby brother, he brushed past BA without a single glance and stopped abruptly when he noticed there was another man standing in their doorway.

"Hiya," Murdock said in a chipper voice smiling and waving vigorously.

"Get outta the door fool!" BA ordered. Murdock sheepishly complied, letting a flustered Dean out of the door as he stepped lightly over the threshold and into the disheveled room.

"What happened in here?" He inquired, a puzzled look on his face.

"Don't know," BA stared at Sam who had lain back on the bed, his hand clutching at the gash in his head. BA moved toward the bed.

"Don't know if you should do that big man," Murdock danced nervously from foot to foot, casting a nervous look toward the door that Dean had just exited. He wasn't sure how the young boy would react to seeing BA standing over his brother.

BA ignored Murdock and knelt next to Sam, "You okay? We could get you outta here before your brother comes back."

"I'm fine," Sam struggled into a sitting position, paling at the effort, "my brother wouldn't hurt me. 'Sides it was all my fault."

"Get away from my brother!" Dean had returned with the first aid kit, but upon seeing BA kneeling next to Sam, he cast the kit aside and rushed to confront BA who stood ominously before Dean, a menacing scowl on his face.

Dean drew back a fist, but before he could throw his punch, Murdock had his fist pinned behind him, not out of fear for BA, but out of concern for what BA might do to Dean. He was only a kid, but no one pushed BA like that and walked away from it. The kid sure had spunk, in any other circumstance that would be admirable. He pulled the struggling boy away, surprised at the amount of force it took. Murdock, though often seemingly unstable, knew how to hold his own in a fight and was able to subdue the kid, albeit with some effort.

"Calm down," he spoke into the kid's ear, "BA's not gonna hurt your brother. He's just checking on him. Now, when I let you go, get the first aid kit and bring it over here. Think you can do that?" He waited for the boy to answer in the affirmative before releasing his hold on him. Dean let out a grunt in response, which Murdock supposed could be taken for a 'yes' and, with a slight nod, he released 'Dean'.

Instead of going for the kit, Dean dropped Murdock to the floor in a sweeping movement with his foot and had him pinned there with his knee on Murdock's chest, his arm poised over the Captain's windpipe. If he applied pressure he would cut effectively cut off his breathing. An amazing feat for a boy of eight.

"Easy there," Murdock looked calmly into the kid's eyes, seeing fire and fear within them, "no one's gonna hurt you or your brother. Let me up and I'll help. Promise."

BA stood and watched the display in awe. He had never seen the Captain act in such a manner before and was surprised at the efficiency with which he had taken control of the boy. He was equally impressed when the young kid, Dean, had taken Murdock down. It looked like he had some self-defense training. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, BA gently grabbed Dean from behind and pinned his arms down to his side. He was concerned that the boy would hurt himself and that if he didn't act quickly, the younger brother's condition would worsen.

"Murdock, go get the first aid kit and shut the door," he ordered.

Murdock stood and retrieved the kit from where Dean had discarded it near the door.

Speaking directly into Dean's ear, BA said, "Now, we are going to take care of you and your brother."

He placed the young kid on the bed next to his brother, aware of the murderous looks that he was shooting in his direction, and that the kid was more than likely planning a counter-assault even as he feigned compliance to his direct order.

"Don't move!" BA pinned Dean with a dangerous look that caused the boy to swallow his protest and look down at the bedspread next to him.

Dean was unhappy, but knew that if he tried anything else, the big man would be able to stop him. He was bigger than any other man he'd ever seen and Dean knew that if he tried to escape again, he'd be a lot worse for the wear. He felt lightheaded and had the sensation that the room was spinning, _probably a slight concussion_, he thought.

"Sam?" Dean prodded; his voice thick with worry, "Sammy? Answer me little brother," he leaned down toward his brother, temporarily forgetting his own aches and the two men in the room. He brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes, "Come on little brother, let me see those beautiful, brown eyes," he said softly.

BA and Murdock watched as Dean spoke to his brother, trying to wake him. It felt a little like they were intruding on a private moment between the two. The older brother, who had been so volatile toward BA seconds earlier, had now turned tender.

_There is no way that this kid hurt his brother_, BA thought to himself as he approached the boys with the first aid kit in hand. He knew that Dean would more than likely give his own life for his little brother and wondered what exactly he had heard happening in the room before he had arrived. _Where were the kids' parents?_ _What had he interrupted and what had happened to whoever had been in here? Who had hurt these two? _BA vowed that he would find out as he knelt next to the boys to check out their wounds. If there was one thing that he hated most in this world, it was violence committed against children.


	3. Uninvited Care

See prologue for disclaimer.

* * *

Uninvited Care

"Here little man," BA hesitantly handed the first aid kit over to Dean, having the strange feeling the kid had used it numerous times on his own.

"Uh thanks," Dean turned to look at BA, for the first time taking in his multiple gold chains, Mohawk, and garish rings. Gulping, he grabbed the first aid kid from the big man's hands and gently put Sammy's head on a pillow, looking closely at the gash in his brother's forehead. Sammy's eyes fluttered open.

"Easy there little brother," Dean whispered as he pushed his struggling brother back against the pillow, "let me get a look at this cut."

"Doesn't look like it needs stitches," he sighed in relief as he cleaned, then bandaged the cut, smiling encouragingly at Sammy.

BA and Murdock watched the exchange curiously. It wasn't every day they saw such a young child caring for his little brother with such a degree of expertise.

"BA, think we oughta leave the Colonel a note?" Murdock queried from the chair he had taken up watch in next to the door, "You know, let him know where we are?"

"You know the Colonel from Kentucky Fried Chicken?" Sammy inquired eagerly, getting a chuckle from the two men and a groan from his brother.

"No, they mean as in the army, Sammy," Dean corrected.

"Oh, like Daddy?" Sam wondered.

"No, Sammy, Daddy was in a rifleman in the Marines," Dean sighed. He really couldn't expect his little brother to know these things, but it irritated him nonetheless, he felt that the two men in the room would somehow look down on them.

"Oh, sorry Dean," Sam frowned, knowing that he had disappointed Dean a little.

"Yeah, Murdock, put a note in the room letting the Colonel and Face know where we are," BA ordered. Though they weren't expecting the other two to be back just yet, he didn't know how long they'd be in this room. He knew they wouldn't be leaving until the boys' parents returned however long that would take. Why they'd been left in the motel room alone in the first place was beyond him.

Murdock ducked quickly out of the door to do as BA had requested, looking at the two boys on the bed. Dean was now sitting next to his brother, a pillow behind his back, his arm draped around his brother's shoulders.

"Hurry up fool!" BA chastised when he caught Murdock lingering in the door.

Murdock hastened next door to write a brief note letting Hannibal and Face know where they were and what was going on, well as best he could anyway. When he returned to the room, he found BA sitting on the other bed, watching the boys. Dean was singing the lyrics to Kansas', "Carry on Wayward Son", an odd lullaby, but it seemed to sooth little Sammy. Murdock took up his watch in the chair next to the door again.

"So, where are your parents?" BA broke in. He had waited to ask this question until things had settled down. It seemed very strange that these two boys would be left to fend for themselves in a hotel room. Though he'd seen just how capable Dean was of handling himself, he didn't think it was right to leave him in charge of his younger brother.

Dean looked over at BA, his eyes a bit unfocused, but it was Sammy who spoke up, "Mommy died when I was jus' a baby, Daddy went hunting with Unca' Bobby. Dean takes care of me."

"Who takes care of Dean?" BA's question was met with a glare from Dean.

"I can take care of myself," Dean clenched his jaw and fists. His body grew rigid as he sat up on the bed. His posture gave him the appearance that he was a bit more alert.

"Easy there Tonto," Murdock grinned from where he sat, playing with the bill of his hat, "no one can deny that you take good care of you and your little brother. BA just worries a bit about everyone. My name's H.M. Murdock by the way." He held up a hand by way of greeting.

Dean just looked warily at the amiable pilot, not knowing what to make of the man; he seemed okay, just a bit high strung. He couldn't seem to sit still in his seat, kept bouncing around, _much like Sammy_, Dean thought.

"So, your dad left you and your brother here while he went hunting with your uncle?" BA summarized, frowning a bit as he wondered just how long these two boys had been left on their own and how often they were left alone while their dad went on _hunting trips_.

Not wanting Sammy to tell these strangers too much, Dean spoke up, "Yeah, they just left this afternoon and are coming back in the morning."

Giving his brother a stern, warning look, Dean managed to keep his brother from telling them the truth – that their dad and Bobby had been gone for two days. Not unusual for them, but he knew that if he told this to BA and Murdock, they would not look too kindly on his father. They might even go to the authorities and he and Sammy might be taken away from their Dad and he might lose his little brother in the process. He would _not _let that happen.

"You know, you two can go back to your room, Sammy and I will be okay, our Dad will be back in the morning. I can take care of my little brother until then." Dean tried to sound reassuring, but to BA he sounded young and vulnerable.

"No, we'll wait with you, besides you never did tell us what all that noise was about," BA said sternly. There was no way he was gonna leave these kids alone, no matter how used to being alone they appeared to be. This was one night they were not going to be left alone, no matter how insignificant it may seem in the grand scheme of things. He would not leave children in a situation in which they could possibly be hurt, it just went against everything he had been taught by his mother and believed in with all of his soul. Children should be cared for by an adult, no ifs ands or buts about it.

"I already told you," Dean gritted his teeth, "we got a little carried away when playing."

_The story changed_, BA noted with a glare, his brown eyes flashing. _What was it that Dean was trying to hide? Had his father and Uncle Bobby been the cause of that purpling bruise on Dean's face and the gash on Sammy's forehead? Was he covering for his Dad?_

BA's eyes narrowed as he looked closely at Dean and Sammy. BA knew he would not get a straight answer from Dean, but he might from Sammy. His gaze lingered on the tousle-haired, brown-eyed boy, who was looking wide-eyed between his green-eyed brother and BA.

"You gonna tell BA what happened?" BA asked kindly, catching Sammy's gaze.

He seemed to be caught up in looking at the gold chains that graced his neck. The question startled him and he looked to Dean, who shook his head slightly, a stern, reprimanding look on his face.

Bottom lip trembling slightly, Sammy, tremulously whispered, "We were just playing."

He averted his eyes away from BA's sparkling necklaces, snuggling closer to his big brother. BA just sighed and looked over at Murdock who was now squatting in the chair, his arms pulled into the bomber jacket he always wore. The pilot was uncomfortable and looked a bit out-of-place.

"Well, maybe we all oughta try to get some rest," he wearily suggested, stretching out onto the bed he currently occupied, making sure to keep the door and the bed the boys were huddled on in view. He was in the bed that Dean usually slept in, to keep himself between any trouble that could get in by way of the door and his little brother.

Dean was almost too tired to fight the big man, but he knew that the ghost that had made the racket that had drawn the two men into their room in the first place, could come back at any moment; the salt line that he had painstakingly drawn two days ago had been carelessly broken by a maid who had ignored the, "Do Not Disturb," sign he had placed on the door.

The spirit of some mother who had been wronged haunted this hotel and had made its way into their room just moments before BA and Murdock had burst into it causing the spirit to disappear, much the way she had appeared, in the blink of an eye.

Dean kept his father's shotgun with rock salt under the bed which BA now occupied and the keys to the Impala were now on the table next to where Murdock sat. He had been unable to reach the gun in time to blast the spirit earlier; it had thrown him into the wall and struck his brother on the head, causing the gash in his forehead before he even had a chance to blink. _Dad's so gonna have my ass for this_, Dean chastised himself.

If the spirit returned, he'd have to act more quickly; he should really try to get these guys to leave before that happened. It had been drilled into him at a young age to keep what his Dad did, to protect Sammy, a secret. These men could not be permitted to stay here. He just had to figure a way to get them to leave, Dean's brows furrowed as he thought of a plan to rid himself of the two nosy men who'd busted, uninvited, into their room.


	4. Headlights and Hotel Rooms

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

Headlights and Hotel Rooms

"My Dad is not gonna like seeing you here when he gets back," Dean said forcefully.

It amazed BA just how tough the eight-year-old could sound. He kind of reminded him of himself.

Sighing, BA turned toward Dean, "Look kid, I can't go an' leave you now that I know you're here alone. You really should get some rest. I'm sure your Dad will understand when he gets here."

_If he gets here_ _and if I leave him in one piece once he gets here_, BA's face darkened as he thought of just what he would like to do to the man who had left these two boys on their own in a hotel room in the middle of nowhere.

"I told you, we can take care of ourselves." Dean fisted the blanket underneath his hand, getting irritated with the big gold covered man.

He wasn't sure if he would be able to protect them all when the spirit returned. It would be easier if it was just Sammy and him. He couldn't even re-salt the door with the two men in the room, they'd think he was crazy for sure and would probably call the police or something.

His Dad was sure going to kill him when he got back, the salt line was broken, Sammy was hurt, and two grown men were _babysitting_ them because of his incompetence. Laying his head against the headboard, Dean sighed heavily, and closed his eyes in frustration. He wished his Dad and Bobby would come back now, but knew that the men were hunting a Gwyllion, a spirit in the nearby mountains that was misleading travelers and had caused a few deaths in the past couple of months. Hopefully Bobby and his Dad had not been waylaid by the, 'Old Woman of the Mountain', as Bobby had referred to her. It was, according to his Dad, what this particular spirit _liked_ to do, after all.

Dean wondered how he would explain his father and Uncle Bobby's absence the next day. If they were gone longer than that, he knew that Sammy and he were sunk; it would be CPS (Child Protective Services) for sure. He and Sammy would surely be separated, and Dean would _not_ let that happen, he reminded himself.

Maybe he and Sammy could slip past these men when they went to sleep. He doubted that the crazy man in the chair would sleep at all, and he felt the big man staring at him, even though he appeared to be asleep. How the man could even stand upright with all of the gold he wore was a wonder to Dean.

He sighed, Sammy had fallen asleep on his arm; he would have to carry his little brother should he try his escape plan and he was dead weight when he slept. It would have to wait until morning, until then he would have to stay as alert as he could in case the spirit should return. He moved his tingling arm from underneath his brother and pulled the covers up over him, tucking him into bed, kissing the top of his head.

BA watched from the other bed, touched at how Dean took care of his little brother, vowing all the more to have a _talk _with the boys' 'Dad' when he returned. Dean had clearly been taking care of himself and his little brother for a long time.

"Did you have anything to eat tonight?" BA whispered, aware of the late hour.

_It was already ten, how long had it been since he and Murdock had come in? An hour? How long had it been since Hannibal and Face had gone to Riverside to check on a couple of things for their next assignment? Five hours? _

He knew not to expect them back until sometime the next afternoon, but it still made him a bit uneasy. He and Murdock were essentially stranded in this middle of the nowhere town as Hannibal had taken the van and Face hadn't brought his corvette this time. Sure, there was a convenience store and a diner nearby, but if they needed to hightail it quickly, they would be unable to get anywhere quicker than their legs could carry them.

Dean looked at the big man angrily, "Course we ate," he spat out.

_As if I would let Sammy go hungry_, he thought derisively. He had been caring for his brother since he was four-years-old himself. He had been feeding, changing, bathing, bandaging, and protecting his little brother since the night their mother had been killed by a demon four years ago. It irked him that someone would burst into their room and insinuate that he was not taking care of his little brother properly.

"Easy there, just askin'." BA could tell that he had struck a nerve.

"Well, I_ can_ manage to feed myself," Dean huffed, sending a glare in the man's direction. Was he wearing feather earrings? _What a freak!_

"Headlights approaching." Murdock perched himself up in the chair as he turned to BA.

"Yeah, our room_ is_ facing a parking lot there'll probably be a lot of _headlights approaching_." Dean shook his head at the man. _Crazy._

"Hold your tongue!" BA scolded. He liked the kid, but he did not like the tone of disrespect he heard when he had addressed his friend.

"_You _broke into _my _room and holed up here and now you're bossing me around like I'm some _kid._" Dean stood and started pacing. "Of course there are going to be headlights. In every hotel room that we've stayed at over the years, it has been the same, headlights come and go, just pull the blinds and the curtains, put a pillow over your head and sleep through it!"

He hadn't really meant to rant and certainly not reveal that much about himself and his brother and their situation, perhaps he really did have a concussion. Thank god his Dad wasn't here, he didn't tolerate disrespect and he would have been upset to hear how Dean had addressed these two men who had not harmed him, but had only offered their help. True, if his Dad _had_ been here, he wouldn't be in this situation at all.

"Dean?" Sammy's sleep-filled voice pulled Dean from his angry thoughts.

"Hush Sammy, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," Dean said in a much softer tone of voice.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Sammy tried to sit up in bed.

Both Dean and BA rushed to his side, BA got there quicker and rushed him to the bathroom. Dean trailed worriedly behind, watching as his little brother retched into the toilet. He was relieved that Sammy was only sick once. He quickly handed a washcloth and a glass of water to BA who wiped his brother's face and urged him to drink some water after washing his mouth out first.

"Thank you." Sammy hugged BA and reached for Dean who bundled him in a blanket he had torn from the bed. Carrying Sammy back to the bed, he tucked him in again and began singing the 'lullaby' BA had heard him sing earlier.

Murdock had gotten up to pace in front of the curtained window and was clearly agitated. BA walked over to see if he could distract his friend.

"I'm sure the kid didn't mean it the way he said it, he and his brother have been through somethin' awful tonight and he's on edge. He hasn't been on the run and doesn't understand what a headlight approaching our hotel room at such an hour might mean," BA whispered.

Murdock's jaw was tense and twitching, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his pants. BA knew he wasn't mad at Dean, but worried just _what_ was going through his friend's mind.

"Just wish Hannibal and Face were here, that's all," Murdock murmured as he paced, his eyes roaming everywhere.

"Jus' calm down." BA reached a hand out to stop his friend's pacing, but it was quickly batted away.

Having gotten Sammy to sleep again, Dean watched the two men across the room. The twitchy one had cleaned up the room when he had been busy with Sammy, he noted. The lamp that had been turned on its side when the spirit had come had been righted, the clothing had been picked up, folded, and neatly placed on top of the dresser, and the toys that Sammy had left on the floor had been restacked in a corner near the table that was next to the door.

"I'm sorry," Dean blurted out, "I didn't mean to be disrespectful and rude. My Dad taught me better than that. Thank you for cleaning the room and…helping me take care of Sammy…I'm sure that the headlights could've been your friends or my Dad and Uncle Bobby, sorry for getting so angry."

Murdock's pacing stopped, and as though he had broken out of some reverie, he turned to Dean and smiled toothily. "That's okay, no hard feelings muchacho. Everyone's a bit tense right now." He relaxed visibly and sat on the edge of the bed BA had vacated earlier.


	5. A Ghostly Encounter

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

A Ghostly Encounter

Murdock had just begun to relax on the bed, BA had taken up his seat in the chair by the door, and a nodding Dean held a sleeping Sammy close, when the temperature in the room plummeted and the lights began to flicker. Dean was instantly alert, Murdock began to look around warily, and BA looked toward the door. Sammy slept on, oblivious to the resumed tension in the room.

"Wh…what's going on?" Murdock asked wide-eyed.

"Don't know man, jus' stay calm." BA stood from the chair, gesturing for Murdock to remain seated.

Dean, however, got up from the bed and took up a shaky defensive stance. _Here we go, round two… _Dean steeled himself for what he knew he had to do.

What BA and Murdock saw caused them to hold their breath. A woman, or what appeared to be a woman, came soaring through the room, heading toward the boy sleeping on the bed. Dean alone was prepared, though he was a bit disconcerted that the spirit had chosen to go after his brother, he dove under the bed to retrieve the shotgun loaded with salt.

The spirit hovered over the sleeping boy, a look that could almost be mistaken for love on her face, if Dean could be fooled enough to believe that a spirit could love. He had thankfully been taught better by his father, though. He knew that spirits, or what he had learned of them, were anything but loving. Most of them were still earthbound because of some wrong they had suffered and were after vengeance of some sort. He wondered what had happened to the woman, how she had died, and what left her earthbound.

At the moment, she looked beautiful and Dean hesitated a moment. Her hair streamed about her head, floating in rivulets around her, like a silvery-golden river. Her face was soft and white, her blood-red lips were pursed in a whimsical smile, and her arctic-blue eyes held nothing but what looked like pure love.

She was dressed in a long, white lace dress that spread out around her floating body. She wore no shoes, but had a black beaded bracelet around her wrist and a crown of flowers twisted around her head. A silver heart-shaped amulet dangled from around her neck, almost touching Sammy' nose. He had mercifully continued to sleep, oblivious to the return of the spirit that had nearly taken his life just a few brief hours before.

Murdock watched the spirit in awe, unsure if he was just seeing things. Though he had been released from the VA and proclaimed, 'sane', he still had his doubts and struggles at times. This was putting him over the edge. He was unaware that Dean had pulled a shotgun from underneath the bed, but was mesmerized, watching the spirit hovering over Sammy. He couldn't take his eyes off of her; her beauty took his breath away.

BA kept blinking his eyes, hoping that the scene in front of him would change. _This can't be happening. This just cannot be happening. Ghosts are not real! _Only those kind that sometimes haunted him when he slept, not the kind that could literally reach out and grab a person, those kind of ghosts were not this could not be happening_._

BA felt the onset of panic, not at all unlike when he faced the prospect of getting on a plane or helicopter with Murdock at the controls, or anyone at the controls for that matter. _Get a hold of yourself man, _he thought trying to stave off the panic.

That is when he caught a glimpse of a shotgun toting Dean out of the corner of his eye. The kid's face held a grimace of determination, and he looked almost natural holding a gun that was half his size. The scene galvanized the mechanic into action. He positioned himself behind Dean to give the kid some support or back up should he need it and pulled out his own weapon; though he had no idea what use a bullet would be against something that was clearly not living.

"Get away from my brother bitch," Dean growled.

The spirit turned her startling blue eyes toward him as he spoke, and the beauty on her face changed in a blur. No longer did her eyes master any look of love, but a look of pure malice overtook her features. Her lips pulled back in a snarl revealing dagger sharp teeth. Her hair began to whip around her head like the snakes of Medusa, wrapping around the still form of his brother, lifting his sleeping form. Her face was no longer soft and white, but decay that showed pearl white bone beneath, engrossed her visage. Her eyes now had a creamy film over them and she bent her face toward Sammy, as though to kiss him.

"Oh no you don't!" Dean shouted, at the same time that Murdock finally woke from his stupor-like state and launched himself at the creature, no longer caring if it was real or a figment of his imagination.

Dean's finger was on the trigger and he was about to shoot when the pilot flew at the spirit that held his brother. He stilled, growling, knowing that, though the gun only held salt pellets, it would still injure the man, he lowered the weapon so that it was pointed at the floor, while shouting, "Get out of the way!"

The spirit, angered by the interference, turned away from her intended victim and, before anyone could register what was happening, her hair released Sammy and she grasped Murdock by the throat and held him, feet off the ground, head just below the ceiling.

He struggled, gasping for air, staring into the eyes of the spirit that held him. They held a fire within them and, before he lost consciousness and his body was tossed to the wall opposite the beds, he thought he could glimpse a bit of Hell in them. He was unaware as his head cracked against the mirror above the dresser spreading web-like splinters where he had hit it. His body slumped halfway down the dresser, so that he rested there at an odd angle, like a Raggedy Andy doll tossed half-heartedly into an open toy box, not quite making it all the way in.

BA aimed his gun at the figure that now floated toward the ceiling, taking a shot. The spirit merely turned her murderous glare toward him as the bullet went right through her and embedded itself into the wall beyond. She flew in his direction, her hair whirling around her like a windstorm.

Dean pulled the shotgun up and shot her squarely in the chest, she dissipated inches away from a backpedaling BA, who looked terrified. He lowered the shotgun onto the bed and took a deep breath; he hadn't realized he'd ceased breathing until he gulped greedily for air. Glancing toward BA, he shrugged.

"Bullets don't work for ghosts; rock salt does," he offered by way of explanation.

He then turned his gaze to where his brother slept. How he had been able to sleep through all of that Dean would never understand, but he was grateful. Though he wanted nothing more than to just lie down next to his brother and get some much needed sleep, Dean knew that the spirit would return. She would be even angrier as they had fought her and Dean had caused her to disappear.

Looking at BA, who had carried his friend over to the bed that Sammy slept on and was now lying him down to check over the injuries the man had sustained, Dean sighed and said, "I gotta re-salt the door and windows. That should keep her out for the rest of the night. I'm gonna go get the salt from the car; you stay here with Sammy and your friend, Murdock, okay?"

He didn't realize it, but he had just issued an order much like his father might have done or, much to BA's chagrin, much like Hannibal would have done in similar, though not supernatural, situations.

Not waiting for an answer, Dean took one more look at his brother, noting that he was safe and secure for the moment, then he grabbed the keys to his father's Impala off the table and headed out the door. Sprinting to the car, he hoped he would be able to lay the salt work down before the spirit could return.

Who knew what might happen if he didn't make it back in time? Murdock had been injured and was completely out of it, Sammy slept, oblivious to any danger; he really should check on that injury to his brother's head, as all of that commotion should have woken him, Dean worried that he had a bad concussion, and BA looked ashen with worry for his friend and terror at what he had seen. His Dad was right, what they did needed to be kept a secret because most people could not handle the truth that demons, ghosts, and other monsters were not figments of someone's imagination, but real and that they were deadly, dangerous.

Grabbing the half-empty bag of salt and more rock-salt ammunition from the trunk, Dean slammed the trunk closed and raced back to the room, hoping against hope that he would make it in time and that he could keep them all safe. _Dad, Bobby, if you can hear me, or maybe God, please come back and help. I don't think I can do this on my own._


	6. A Stitch in Time

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

A Stitch in Time

BA tried in vain to rouse Murdock. Unable to wake the man, he made him as comfortable on the bed as he could, while he went to retrieve the first aid kit. The dark bruises that graced his friend's neck had taken on a purplish quality that made him nervous. It looked as though he had been strangled by human hands rather than an unearthly spirit.

_What would the Colonel say or Face, whose Catholic faith seemed a nearly tangible entity?_ _Would they believe what I witnessed just minutes before or would they think I've gone as crazy as Murdock and lock me up in the VA hospital? _

BA shook his head, banishing his musings and took a seat on the bed next to Murdock, feeling again for a pulse and reassuring himself that it was still there. Murdock was so still, not at all like the man he had come to know and, even grudgingly admit, love.

Blood trickled from where the pilot's head had made contact with the mirror and BA pressed a clean towel to the wound, pulling out a small sliver of the mirror from his friend's skull. It wasn't a big sliver, but it made BA nervous nonetheless. The wound might need stitches. There was no way he would be able to bring his friend to the hospital, Stockwell had not yet made good on his promise to clear their names of all charges. He, though Murdock wasn't, was a wanted man. He couldn't risk being captured by the military police again, so he poured rubbing alcohol onto a hand towel and pressed it into the gash, cleansing it, wondering how he would close the wound.

Though BA normally would not be tending to a wounded man, and he was a bit unsure of himself, he knew that it was up to him to care for his friend as neither Hannibal nor Face would be coming back soon. Looking in the first aid kit, he found a needle and nylon sutures and wondered how often the needle had been used, how many sutures had been gone through, and how often the kit was replenished with fresh supplies.

Putting the needle and sutures aside, he fished for some sort of bandage that would cover the cut and hopefully staunch the flow of blood. He would, as a last resort, attempt to stitch the wound in Murdock's skull. He shivered at the prospect and hoped he wouldn't have to; that the bandages he had found would suffice.

"How's your friend?" A disheveled looking Dean asked as he hurriedly slammed the door shut behind him, a couple of bags clutched to his heaving chest. Throwing the keys onto the table, he began to pour salt from one of the bags in a steady line in the crack where the door met the floor.

"Not sure," BA admitted, "he's got quite a cut in the back of his head and it looks as though he were nearly choked to death. He won't wake up either."

Not losing a beat, Dean asked, "He need stitches?"

"I hope not, but the bandage I just put on his head is now red with blood." BA wondered how the kid could remain so calm_. How often had he witnessed something so disturbing? What exactly did his father and Uncle Bobby do?_ They were supposed to be out hunting, but now BA wondered what it was they could be hunting.

Having fixed the areas where the salt line had been disturbed by the maid who had entered their room earlier that day, Dean checked on the salt lines he had laid around the window in the bathroom and the door that adjoined their room to the one BA and Murdock had occupied. Satisfied that they were intact, he put the nearly empty bag of salt on the table next to the keys and sat down in the chair that had earlier been occupied by a fidgety Murdock who now lay coma-still in the bed next to his brother. Both were eerily still and Dean wearily lifted himself to go check on his brother, wanting to assure himself that he was still breathing and that he could rouse him from sleep.

BA plied another bandage to his friend's head and watched as Dean lightly shook his brother's shoulder to wake him. Though it took a few shakes, Sammy reluctantly opened sleep-filled eyes and groggily looked at his visibly relieved brother.

"Is it morning? Can I have some Lucky Charms? Is Dad back?"

"Shhh, no, just checking on you 'cause you hit your head kiddo. Go back to sleep, I'll wake you in the morning and you can have Lucky Charms then. Okay?"

Sammy nodded, and, smiling, closed his eyes to resume his sleep as though it had not been disturbed. Dean fisted back a yawn, looked over at BA and Murdock, and knew that the man's head would need to be stitched. He had had to stitch up a wound for his dad earlier that year and, though it was one of the scariest things he had had to do, Dean had done a good job and the stitches had held. His Dad now had a kickass scar over his left eyebrow.

He remembered how his Dad had drunk a couple of glasses of whiskey and talked him through the process of stitching him up. Dean had been trembling, but when his dad had reprimanded him, telling him that if he didn't keep his hands steady, he would cause damage, Dean had stilled his hands as best he could and hummed, "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC , to steady his nerves.

He knew that one of them would have to stitch up the wound in Murdock's head and wondered if it would rest on his shoulders to do so. He had experience and wondered if the metal covered man did. He would gladly pass that duty onto him if that were the case. He would rather not have to make another stitch in his life, but knew he would inevitably need to stitch up his father or maybe even himself, or god forbid, Sammy, in the future.

If his father had been able to stitch himself up that day, he would never have asked Dean to, but he also told his son that it would be a good skill for him to have in the future. Dean shivered at the memory, briefly wondering what life would have been like had his Mom not been killed when his brother was a baby.

"Do you know how to stitch someone up?" Dean asked hopefully.

BA shook his head. He'd never had to suture a wound before, he'd bandaged injured men and dealt with a number of different injuries, but, strange as fate could be sometimes, he'd never had to make a single stitch once in his life. He supposed that it came with him being the driver of the getaway car or the scout, looking out for the others rather than tending to the injured. His training in first aid had been brief and covered only the basics.

Dean's shoulders slumped as he made his way over to the other side of the bed.

"I had to stitch my Dad up a couple of months ago," he said by way of explanation as he picked up the needle, "you prop his head up and sanitize the area with this."

He held out antiseptic to BA who marveled at how knowledgeable the eight-year-old was. He was slightly ashamed of himself, and vowed to watch what Dean did carefully, so that, should one of his friends need to be stitched up in the future, he'd be able to help.

"When you're done sanitizing the wound, give him a shot of this," he held out a needle that BA reluctantly took, "it's Novocain and it should help to numb the area. Even though he's out cold, the pain might cause him to wake up," Dean explained, he didn't have any whiskey and didn't know how willing the big man would be to use it.

"I'll sanitize the needle." Dean poured some rubbing alcohol over the needle he would use to suture the wound with.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began the slow process of suturing. It was a bit harder to get the needle through the thicker skin of the skull and it felt strange, but Dean hummed to himself and managed to close up the gash with six sutures. He covered the stitches with the next to last bandage they had, making a mental note to let his Dad know they would need new bandages, sutures, and Novocain.

BA watched Dean work with a mixture of shame, pity, and admiration. No eight-year-old should have to know how to sew someone up and he, himself, should have been the one to sew up his friend.

"Thank you," BA said quietly, putting his hand over Dean's, wanting to pull him into a hug, but sensing that Dean would not react well to that.

"No problem." Dean smiled, re-sanitizing the needle and putting everything back into the kit.

Man was he tired. He didn't think he could make it over to the other bed to lie down and was reluctant to do so, fearing that the spirit might return in spite of the fact that he had triple-checked the salt lines to make sure they were intact. He wavered on his feet and, finally, his body gave in, as blackness tugged him under.

BA was up quicker than he thought possible, catching Dean before he fell to the floor. Hugging the boy to himself, he placed Dean on the bed in between Sammy and Murdock, hoping that sleep would claim him for a couple of hours at least. The boy had looked exhausted at the beginning of this whole ordeal, and that was hours ago. It was now nearly one in the morning and BA himself was exhausted, but he vowed that he would keep watch over the trio on the bed and keep them from any more harm.

Making sure the door was locked, he took up the chair that he had vacated not too long ago and placed it so that he had a view of both the door and the three sleeping on the bed. _Hannibal and Face, you gotta get here soon. I don't know how much longer I can last. God, help me stay awake. _ He looked toward the ceiling and prayed.


	7. Lullabies

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

Lullabies

Though he didn't want to, Dean felt himself drifting off to sleep. He tried to keep his eyes open, but of their own accord, they kept closing. He would drift off into a state of semi-sleep, only to jerk himself awake, fear for Sammy foremost on his mind. It was clear to him that whatever that creature was, she was after his brother and it was up to him, in his father's absence, to keep his brother safe. It was always up to him. He thought nothing of it, it was just what he did and he was happy to do it; he loved his little brother more than anything else in the world.

Sitting up in bed, he turned to look at the man who had come into their room just a few hours ago and watched him for a moment while he was facing the door. He looked tough, Dean thought. The man wore so much gold that Dean wondered, once again, how he could stand upright. He was also muscular, like those guys Dean saw on TV who wrestled professionally. He was not a man anyone would mess with and Dean admired that, though, should he even try to come between him and Sammy, he swore that the man wouldn't stand a chance. Sure, he'd have a hard time taking the giant of a man on, but Dean would figure something out, he wouldn't let the Mohawk sporting black man take his little brother from him.

Suddenly aware that he was being watched, BA stiffened, but willed himself not to turn around. Instead, he observed Dean out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself as he watched first wistfulness, then anger, and an intense glare manifest across the boy's face. It was clear that he was being measured and BA hoped that he would be found trustworthy in the young man's eyes, though he somehow doubted that Dean trusted anyone other than himself and his father. Turning slowly, so as not to startle the boy, BA faced him, smiling.

"You should try an' get some sleep," BA suggested, knowing that Dean would protest.

Though it wearied the sergeant, he admired the young man's tenacity and single-mindedness. He had one thought on his mind and one mission – to keep his brother safe – and he would not rest until that mission was accomplished. BA sighed at the determined look on Dean's face; his young jaw was clenched tight in raw willpower.

"Look, I promise that I won't let anything bad happen to you or your little brother," BA was practically pleading for the kid to listen to him and relax, let someone else take control of the situation for a while. Dean just stared at him, a hard look in his eyes.

"You know, Sammy didn't even know what happened when you and your friend came in here. I told him that he fell out of bed," Dean confided.

He wasn't looking directly at BA, but at a point just to the right of his shoulder. BA was shocked that the young man had chosen to share this bit of information with him, but held himself in check so as to keep him talking, sensing that he needed to confide in someone.

"Dad is so obsessed with hunting down the demon that killed Mom, that he doesn't even really notice Sammy and me much. I try to keep things _normal_ for Sammy. I try to keep the sort of things that Dad and Uncle Bobby hunt a secret so that he doesn't have nightmares," Dean spat out, "but tonight, I messed up and he nearly got killed – twice." Dean was close to tears now.

He was sitting up straight as a board in bed, his shoulders trembling slightly as he struggled to stop shaking. BA knew that a combination of the stress of the evening and the lack of sleep were doing a number on the boy and wished that he would just succumb to the sleep that was trying so desperately to claim him.

Dean's crisp blue eyes unexpectedly locked on BA's serious brown ones. "For once, I just wish that Dad were here. I know that I'm supposed to take care of Sammy. It's what Mom would've wanted, but sometimes I just don't know how." His voice took on a beseeching tone, hoping for understanding.

It was a brief moment of vulnerability and BA wanted so badly just to walk the short distance to where Dean sat and wrap him in a big bear hug, instinctively knowing that the young boy did not get very many of those, and that he was in desperate need of some sort of comfort. So much responsibility had been placed on the young boy's shoulders. He knew, however, that if he even so much as changed his posture, the boy would clam up and so BA remained seated, open to listening.

"When I was four…" Dean's eyes now took on a distant look, like he was living in another time. It reminded BA of how Murdock would get sometimes or Hannibal when they remembered something from the war.

"I remember that my Mom always sung a lullaby to Sammy to help him sleep. She sometimes did it for me too. One night, Sammy started crying and Mom went to check on him. I was sleeping in my room, but I can remember hearing her scream and I woke up. I heard Dad run up the stairs and he started yelling. I ran into Sammy's room and it was on fire. Dad had Sammy in his arms and he gave him to me. He told me to take him and keep him safe."

Dean looked down at his hands, twisting the comforter as he spoke, "Before I left, though, I saw her." Again he locked eyes with BA. "She was so beautiful, even in the fire. She was like an angel. She was on the ceiling and the fire was around her. Dad pushed me out of the room and I ran with Sammy in my arms. Mom told me to keep him safe. That's what big brothers do; they protect their little brothers. She told me that before Sammy was even born."

BA didn't know what to say. He sat in the chair, his arms on his knees, his eyes not wavering from Dean's. Again, he wished that Hannibal or Face was there or that even Murdock was awake. They might be able to offer words of comfort or something to the young man. But they weren't. It was just him and this heavy-hearted young man.

_What do I say to someone who lost his mother at the age of four and became a surrogate parent to his younger sibling in the process? What do I say to a boy who has to protect himself and his brother from ghosts and monsters that are much too real? What do I say to a boy who, in addition to losing his mother to a horrific death, had also lost a father to an all-consuming obsession?_

Knowing that it was inadequate, but it was all he could offer, BA said the only words that came to mind, "I'm sorry." He forced himself to look Dean directly in the eyes and saw a mixture of confusion, sorrow, and relief swirling in them as an unchecked tear ran down his cheek.

BA stood, not caring whether Dean would shirk away or not, and he sat on the edge of the bed pulling the trembling boy to rest against his side. He sat there and held the boy, who struggled at first. He had been in control for so long, the one to comfort his little brother like a father or mother should have, and BA suspected that he also comforted his father in the same way. BA held him, rubbing his back in a circular pattern and rocking side to side like his own mother had done with him when he was younger. That's when the dam that had held Dean's tears back for so long seemed to burst and he silently cried himself to sleep in the warm embrace.

BA lost track of time as he rocked Dean, absentmindedly singing to him a lullaby his own mom had sung to him many years ago. He soon became aware that the boy's tears had stopped and that his hitching breath had been replaced by a more rhythmic breathing. He gently lay the young boy's head down on the pillow and tucked the covers around his shoulders, just under his chin. Relieved that he had finally gotten the young man to sleep, BA sighed and stood to retake his seat in the chair.

"Aw, you _are_ just a big old teddy bear," Murdock's sleepy voice floated over to him and BA turned to see that the pilot had awakened and was propped up on an elbow watching him.

"How long you been awake?" BA demanded gruffly.

"Oh, long enough. I didn't know that you knew any lullabies. Could you sing one to me, pretty please?"

Murdock smirked, knowing that it would probably anger the big man, but not being able to resist the temptation to rile him up just a bit. If only his head didn't feel like it was about to erupt like a volcano. Murdock leaned his head back against the headboard and let out a loud groan, gingerly feeling his head. BA was at his side in an instant, a frown of concern on his face.

"Don't touch that you fool!" He reprimanded when Murdock's fingers graced the bandage that was covering the set of stitches in his head.

He grabbed the man's wrist and pulled his hand away from the wound rather abruptly. The look of pain and confusion that he read in the man's eyes caused BA to hold his temper in check. He reminded himself that Murdock had been hurled headfirst into a mirror by an angry ghost just a brief hour ago while trying to protect a little boy.

"You got some stitches in your head," he said a little less gruffly, "do you remember what happened?"

"Uh…" Murdock tried to sit up in bed, but BA pushed him back, "I think maybe I got thrown through a window or maybe I was pulled up in a tornado and tossed into a tree?"

BA just shook his head in amazement at the goofy half-grin on the pilot's face. He knew the man had to be in a lot of pain, yet he was still the same cheerful pain in the butt that he always was. _Should I tell him what happened or would that just confuse him? _ BA wondered.

"Well, you busted your head on that mirror over there," he gestured toward the smashed mirror that hung over the only dresser in the room.

"Why exactly did I do that?" Murdock's eyes focused on the mirror that BA had indicated.

Truth be told, he had a hard time focusing on the mirror as his vision kept swimming and black dots threatened to obscure his vision completely.

BA, aware of his friend's increasing discomfort as Murdock breath in sharply and closed his eyes as he pressed his fists into them, put a comforting hand on his shoulder as he explained what had happened just a short hour ago.

"But, that's crazy and I know you're not crazy, I've been cleared of crazy too," Murdock whispered fervently when BA had finished telling him about the ghost and how Dean had shot it and then stitched up his head. His eyes had taken on a glazed unfocused look as he glanced at BA.

"'Course it's not crazy fool," BA remonstrated; a half-hearted frown on his face as he attempted to keep a tone that he hoped would banish all thoughts to the contrary.

He didn't want Murdock to panic or to think that he had reverted to a less than sane frame of mind. He knew he couldn't deal with a crazy Murdock talking to things that were not there on top of everything else.

"Where's the colonel?" Murdock asked in a small voice bordering on the panic that BA had been trying hopelessly to dispel.

"He and Face went to get some things needed for our next assignment, remember? They'll be back later today," he said looking at the clock, realizing that it was already nearing morning. It had been a very long, draining, couple of hours.

"Go get him now, BA," Murdock whined, clutching the comforter.

"Hush fool." BA grimaced, worried about his friend, but not willing to coddle him. "You're gonna wake the boys." He gestured to the figure in the bed next to Murdock and the other boy in the bed closest to the door.

Murdock scrunched his eyes and looked at the boy sleeping next to him and his face softened a bit as he grinned. Sighing heavily he made up his mind to be brave, though he feared that he was going insane, again. He would do his best to protect the two boys who slept so innocently, even though he half-feared those boys were a figment of his fragmented mind. He laid back down and let his eyes close.

"BA?"

"Yeah." BA knelt down next to the pilot, leaning in to hear the soft voice.

"You getting some sleep too?" Murdock yawned.

"Don't you worry 'bout that. Just hush now and sleep." His hand rested a moment on Murdock's arm.

He waited until Murdock's breathing became even and he knew the man was asleep. Standing, he walked to the other bed and watched Dean for a minute, making sure he still slept. Grabbing one of the pillows and the salt-filled shotgun, he settled down on the floor in between the two beds and lay down. Closing his eyes, he sighed warily, _Hannibal you gotta hurry back. Murdock needs you, these boys need you, man, I need you._

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he could hear a soft voice singing, "Hush little baby don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird and if that mocking bird don't sing, mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring…" accompanied by the comforting, rhythmic sound of a rocking chair.


	8. Dreamweaver Granny

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N:** Spoilers of sorts for "The Duke of Whispering Pines" (A-Team; Season 4 episode 18), and "Pilot" (Supernatural).

* * *

Dreamweaver Granny

From a corner in the room, Annah, as she'd been known in her former life, sat in a ghostly flickering rocking chair. The click-clack of knitting needles and the creaking of the rocking chair could be heard faintly under her softly lilting voice as she continued to sing lullaby after lullaby, her eyes occasionally looking over at the four boys who lie sleeping. Her singing would keep them asleep. She had been watching and knew that though she couldn't interfere with the spirit who had wrought havoc in the room, she could give these boys what they needed at the moment, and that was sleep. Her voice would keep them asleep, indefinitely if she wished. She was eternally linked to this room and could not be banished from it. The salt that Dean had carefully laid out around the room served only to keep her locked in place more firmly.

There had been others. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as her needles began to click-clack at a more furious pace and she remembered those whom she had lulled to sleep never to wake again. They had been people deserving of death, people who had acted foolishly over the decades and those who had caused others harm, like the one who had killed her so long ago, claiming she had been a witch.

She had simply been gifted with what her own grandmother had called, 'the sight'. Her fury grew as she remembered the past and the air around her crackled with supernatural electricity. Her long white hair whipped about her head and the tone of her singing changed, causing those who were unwittingly listening to shift in their sleep as troubled thoughts invaded the pleasant dreams that had accompanied her comforting lullabies.

Coming to herself, she noticed the labored breathing of the youngest of the four and calmed herself down. She would not allow her anger at past hurts to affect her or those currently under her otherworldly influence. It would do no good for only three to awaken in the morning. Her singing once again took on the sweet slumber causing quality and the four boys' dreams once again became pleasant. The youngest was breathing normally once again and he had a sweet smile on his face.

_Dean couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something odd about the day he was spending with his family. His mom had packed a picnic basket full of all of his favorite foods: hotdogs, Cheetos©, potato salad, soda, fried chicken and chocolate cake with ice cream. His brother was playing with Billy, their golden retriever, and his dad was lying on the checkered blanket, talking with his mom. Dean was looking up at the clouds in the brilliant blue sky seeing what shapes he could make out. _

"_Wanna play Frisbee son?" John nudged Dean's sneaker with the toe of his shoe. Looking up at his father through the fringe of his sandy brown hair, he shrugged as his father pulled him to his feet and Sammy came running over with Billy in tow._

"_Yeah Dean, let's play Fissbee," Sammy said eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Billy looked just as eager, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted, alternately sitting and standing impatiently next to his young master._

"_It's called Frisbee dimwit," Dean chastised, tousling his younger brother's darker hair, smiling and shaking his head at his little brother. Sensing that Billy wanted some sort of acknowledgement too, Dean bent down to pat the golden dog's head._

"_Let me get my three boys," Mary Winchester said, laughing as Billy came running over with a sorrowful look on his face , and nudged her hand with his wet nose, " sorry Billy, four boys," she corrected, " on video." Dean's mom smiled at them as she pulled a video camera out from behind the picnic basket. _

_Smiling, he waved at his mom, resisting a childish urge to run up to her and give her a great big hug. She wore the white sundress that Dean had always remembered her wearing. It fit her perfectly and made_ _her skin look as though it were glowing in the sun. She had her hair up in a ponytail, but suddenly pulled the hair tie out and let her long blonde hair blow in the wind. That's how Dean always remembered her hair, wild and free._

_His smile and wave faltered for a moment as an unbidden memory threatened his happiness and dark storm clouds overtook the sunny day. He struggled with the memory that shifted like smoke in a fire, trying to grasp it with his mind, but it fled as quickly as the storm clouds overhead and he smiled broadly and waved once more at his mom turning to join his brother and father in Frisbee. He couldn't remember a time he had been happier._

XXX_  
_

_BA couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was being watched nor the idea that something about the situation wasn't quite right, but he was enjoying his date night with wife, Deborah. She was beautiful in the red spaghetti-strap dress that fit her like a glove. Kissing her, he reveled in the sweet taste of her lips and the smooth silkiness of her skin beneath his fingers as he caressed her arms. _

"_BA, we should really check on Trisha before we head out tonight," Deborah pulled away from him, swatting at his hand as he attempted to pull her close once again. Reluctantly, he followed his wife into their daughter's room and gazed in awe at the precious girl who slept, thumb tucked in mouth. How had he managed to be so lucky as to marry his high school sweetheart and have such a gorgeous little girl? _

_Pride swelled in his heart and he was humbled by the thought that it could all be swept away in an instant. Something tugged at his mind, telling him that this wasn't real, but he brushed it aside as the babysitter knocked on the front door announcing her arrival. Carefully kissing his daughter's cheek so as not to wake her, he followed his wife out of the room and listened as Deborah gave the babysitter the number where they could be reached should an emergency arise._

_He couldn't keep his eyes off Deborah as they ate. Here he was with the most beautiful woman in the world; he wanted to proclaim it to the entire restaurant, no, more than that, to the entire universe._

"_What?" Deborah asked as BA continued to look at her. She shivered under his intense gaze._

"_Just can't imagine anything better than this." He smiled, grasping her hand in his. "Want to dance?"_

"_I thought you'd never ask." Her smile lit up the room as he led her to the dance floor, placing one hand on her lower back. Her heart raced as he planted a kiss on her lips. _

_The music hit a sour note, stopping, and everything shifted for BA, the world tilted and he saw Deborah with his high school rival for an instant. The life he had with Deborah was now his rival's. His blood boiled and he wanted to hit someone. _

_The music resumed, nearly as soon as it had stopped and BA hugged Deborah closer as they danced, the world was back on the right axis, his anger faded as quickly as it had flared. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt as much joy as he did at that very moment._

XXX_  
_

_Sammy was having the time of his life with his big brother Dean, their father, and Uncle Bobby. They were playing hide-and-seek in Uncle Bobby's junkyard and Sammy had a really good hiding spot – the trunk of an old jalopy. He hadn't pulled the trunk completely down, but had left it partially open so that he wouldn't get trapped in it. He had to hold his breath to keep from giving his position away. He knew that Dean was great at seeking, but it was his dad's turn and no one was better than his Dad at finding him when they played hide-and-seek. He was an expert!_

"_Ready or not, here I come!" His Dad shouted. _

_Sammy nearly squealed with delight, but bit down on his bottom lip to keep his mouth shut. He had to sit cross-legged with his butt on hands to keep himself still. Everyone always found him first because he gave his position away by fidgeting. That's what Dean always said anyway, though sometimes Dean pretended not to find him before he found Bobby or his Dad and then hid in a spot that would be easy for Sammy to find him in when it was his turn to do the seeking. His brother was the bestest._

_He was so happy today because his Dad was actually playing with them and so was Uncle Bobby. They rarely played with Dean and him because they were always busy hunting or something like that. Sometimes they were busy arguing. Sammy sighed and bit down harder on his bottom lip, silently scolding himself for nearly giving his position away. _

_Suddenly, the car he was sitting in shifted on the junk pile and he toppled over, the trunk shut and he was swallowed in darkness. His heart beat faster and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He tried to call out to Dean or his Dad or Bobby, but his voice wouldn't work. He couldn't push the trunk open with his arms and started crying. He was going to die in the dark trunk of an old car. The thought of dying all alone without his brother or father had him crying even harder and gasping for breath that wouldn't come. Panicking, he prayed that someone would find him soon before he died._

_Instead, he heard a woman's voice singing something soft and pretty. Maybe he was dead and in heaven with his Mom. This wasn't so bad, he would miss Dean, his Dad, and Uncle Bobby, but if he could be with his Mom, then it would be okay. Dean and his Dad never talked about her, but maybe now he would get to know her. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and listened to the lullaby, imagining his mother's arms rocking him to sleep._

"_Sammy?" _

_Dean's worried voice floated over to him and he kicked at the trunk of the car in response to let his brother know he had heard him. He heard someone climbing the junk pile and his mother's comforting presence faded as the trunk was opened. The worried faces of Dean, his Dad, and Uncle Bobby crowded him as his Dad lifted him from the trunk and hugged him to himself, murmuring._

"_Oh Sammy, I thought we'd lost you, don't ever do anything like that again!" John Winchester admonished his son as he patted his back in comfort, easing his son's sobs. He couldn't remember a time when his father had held him so closely and he had never felt as safe as he did at that moment._

XXX_  
_

_Murdock was never happier than when he was flying and, though he knew it wouldn't last, he was determined to enjoy every moment of this flight through the bright blue skies. Letting out a whoop of pure joy, he glanced behind him making sure that BA still had a smile on his face. He wasn't sure how it had happened or whether it was truly real or not, but BA had somehow overcome his terror of flying and was up in the big blue with him. He didn't even panic when Murdock did a loop-de-loop._

"_Woo-hoo!" He called out, "How ya doin' back there big fella?"_

"_Jus' pay attention to your' flyin' fool!" BA grinned back. _

'_That's more like it,' Murdock thought as he once again looked at the ground that raced by below them. The green hills rolled by quickly and Murdock relaxed, completely at ease in his element. He had never been happier and was thrilled that he was finally able to share his love of flying with his friend who had always been so against his favored mode of transport._

_Maneuvering to make another loop-de-loop Murdock glanced behind him once again to make sure that he hadn't been seeing things. It wouldn't be the first time he had seen someone or something that was not there after all. Comforted by the fact that BA was still there, Murdock flawlessly executed the loop-de-loop whooping and hollering the whole time._

_Suddenly, the small plane shuddered as one of the engines went out. Murdock knew it was nothing to panic over, but he knew that his friend would not be feeling too safe. The man could barely handle a normal flight, let alone one which could end up in an abrupt landing, and, in spite of BA's uncharacteristic enjoyment thus far, Murdock doubted it would carry on through this. _

_Grinning and glancing behind him, he took in the panicked look on his friend's face and the joy of his flight vanished as he worried about what BA might do to him once he successfully landed the aircraft. Gulping in worry, Murdock concentrated on finding a place to safely land the plane as smoke trailed behind the small aircraft._

_Something wasn't right, where there had been gently rolling hills there was now a vast lake below them. Murdock couldn't put the plane down on the lake and he couldn't see any land in sight. When had the landscape changed? How was he going to land the plane?_

"_Land the plane fool! Can't you see it's smokin'?" BA's panicked voice assaulted his ears and he glanced frantically around, looking for land that was not there._

"_Working on it," he tossed back._

"_You better land this plane now!" BA shouted menacingly._

'_Oh man, he is going to kill me,' Murdock swallowed the fear that threatened to overtake him. Then, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, land reappeared and Murdock was able to land the plane smoothly._

_Instead of hitting him like he had expected, BA smiled and gave the man a great big hug, "That was the best flight ever, thank you."_

XXX_  
_

Fighting the sleep that had overcome him, BA managed to pry a single eyelid open, feeling as though he was struggling with a physical force that had paralyzed him.

He could see something glowing in a corner of the room, and a brief moment of panic gripped his heart. _Was the spirit that had been after little Sammy and that had nearly killed his friend back again? _

The panic gave him the adrenaline he needed to pry both of his eyes open, yet the rest of his body still felt immovable, as though it had been glued to the floor, and, try as he might, he could not move his head. Images from his dream remained at the forefront of his mind and he wondered why he had been dreaming of Deborah as it had been a while since he had last seen her.

She had asked the team for help finding her husband who was being held hostage. BA had hated losing her to Jason Duke, but that was all water under the bridge and he thought that he had moved on, but apparently his subconscious mind had something else to say on the matter.

Trying to stay awake was getting harder, and his eyelids began to droop. He urged his vocal chords to work and attempted to coax words out of his aching throat, but they would not come. He battled harder, dislodging the voice at the back of his mind that insisted he had somehow been paralyzed. Willing himself to relax, he felt a surge of triumph when he was able to wiggle a finger.

"Who are you?" He finally managed to whisper in a hoarse voice that he doubted could be heard beyond his own ears. Struggling to put more force behind his words, he managed to croak his question out once again.

Immediately, the clicking of the needles stopped and the lullaby ceased. The glow that he had seen in the corner flickered and then disappeared with a _Crack!_

BA wondered if he had imagined the entire thing, but he was finally able to fight off whatever had been holding him in place. It felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from off his body. He stood in between the beds and carefully made his way to the bathroom where he relieved himself and looked at his exhausted reflection in the mirror, noting his bloodshot eyes.

_Would this night never end?_ He wished that he had ignored what he had heard coming from this room. He and Murdock would be sleeping in their own room, blissfully unaware of the things that go bump in the night instead of being trapped here, surrounded by salt, worrying about the return of a vengeful ghost. If only he hadn't felt obligated to come to the aid of others. When would he learn his lesson?

Returning to the room, he saw Murdock sleeping with a peaceful smile on his face and little Sammy was curled up right next to him, one of his arms flung over Murdock's chest. He, too, seemed peaceful.

Hearing a low groan, he glanced over at the bed where Dean lay and watched as the boy twisted in his sleep. It looked as though he were fighting off some invisible enemy.

BA crossed the space between them in a few long strides and was beside Dean in one bated breath. Dean was talking in his sleep, BA could only make out a few words.

"No…Sammy…. Dad…. don't…. Mom…. can't fight it off…. Please … take me, not him… someone…. please… help….."

As the boy tossed around, he cast off the blankets that covered him. BA noticed that the boy was covered in sweat and that his t-shirt clung to his frame. He also, noticed that the slightly purple bruise just above the boy's left eye had darkened. Cursing himself for not taking care of the injury before, he wondered if Dean had been aware of it and simply not said anything or if the kid had been so concerned about everyone else he hadn't taken the time to address his own aches and pains.

Sitting on the bed next to the young man, he placed a hand to the sweaty brow and grimaced when it felt hot to the touch. He would have to do something to bring the fever down. _Where had that first aid kit gone to?_

BA searched the room, finally discovering it under the bed that Murdock and Sammy had claimed. Grasping a bottle of Tylenol, BA struggled with the childproof cap in his sleep-deprived state and grew frustrated when the opening of it continued to elude him.

He placed the unopened bottle on the night stand to tackle it later. At the moment, he was about to put his fist through a wall in his frustration. He walked to the bathroom and filled a glass with cold water. He then grabbed the ice bucket and filled it halfway with cold water.

He left the room to get some ice from the ice machine, unaware that he had inadvertently broken the salt line that Dean had painstakingly reapplied mere hours ago. Returning to the room, he grabbed a washcloth and sat down next to Dean to once again try opening the Tylenol bottle.

_Finally_, he thought as the cap twisted off. Pouring two capsules in his hand, he debated about how to get them into Dean. _Should I wake him or simply lift him up and put them in his mouth, and coax them down his throat?_

Figuring that the latter option would be the least intrusive, and allow Dean to get the rest he needed, he lifted the boy to a half sitting position and placed the pills in the boy's mouth with a small amount of water. BA rubbed the boy's throat, initiating the act of swallowing.

Sighing in relief when the pills and water had been swallowed without any choking, BA laid him back onto the bed. Taking the washcloth, he dipped it into the bucket filled with icy water. Flinching when his hands made contact with the frigid water, he wrung the cloth out and washed Dean's face with it.

When he was finished, the cloth was lukewarm. Again, he plunged the cloth into the ice bucket and this time applied the cool cloth to the back of the boy's neck as his own mother had done for him when he had been a child. He repeated his ministrations until the ice in the bucket had melted and Dean appeared to be sleeping more soundly. The fact that Dean had slept through all of that had BA worried that he had suffered more injuries than a simple bruise on his cheek.

_Did the boy have a concussion? _BA ran his hands over the back of Dean's skull and winced in sympathy when he felt a nickel-sized lump on the back of the boy's head.

Determined to keep a closer eye on Dean, BA stretched out on the other side of the bed, near the edge, and, in spite of his best efforts to stay awake, he fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamt of Deborah and ghosts and a granny sitting in a rocking chair singing lullabies and knitting.


	9. Shotguns and False Assurances

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N:** The gorgon sisters are from Greek mythology. They had snakes for hair and it was thought that if you looked directly at them, you would turn to stone. Medusa is the most famous of the three gorgon sisters: Medusa, Euryale, and Sthenno. Season 2 Episode 21 "Deadly Maneuvers" of the "A-Team" is referenced in this chapter.

* * *

Shotguns and False Assurances

Dean felt as though he was burning up and he couldn't seem to open his eyes. Dreams of his mother plagued his sleep. A small part of him knew that his dreams were not reality, but there was a much larger part of him that wanted, no, needed them to be real, so much so that he did not really want to wake up from his sleep at all. In the dream he was having, his father seemed genuinely happy and had no lines of pain or sorrow etched on his face. And Sammy, Sammy had both his Mommy and Daddy, the way a little boy should.

Watching his family together, though he felt as if he would burn up in the scorching heat of the sun, Dean never wanted to leave. He wished that it could always be this way. Everything was so _perfect_. He wished that the part of him which kept telling him everything he was seeing was all a lie, would just shut up and leave him the hell alone so that his family could be happy and whole; not for himself, but for his Dad and brother. He would give anything for his Dad to smile like that and for Sammy to know their mother. She had been so kind and was the prettiest woman in the entire world.

She had loved him and Sammy so much. Her voice, when she would sing to him and baby Sammy, was like that of an angel. Yeah, Dean would be willing to stay here, in this dream world, burning forever if it meant he could keep his Mom. She was the one who had made and kept them whole.

He knew that when he woke up, everything would once again be spinning off its titled axis. His father would be off on a hunt, looking for what had killed his Mom and he would be taking care of Sammy. It was like riding a garishly painted carousel with the horses going faster and faster around and around nonstop until it flung you off, leaving you dizzy, except Dean couldn't figure out how to get off the merry-go-round and it seemed to keep getting faster as time continued its forward march.

He felt something cold on his forehead and had the strange sensation that he was being lifted. He felt cooler as the ministrations to his neck and forehead continued and was thankful. His eyes seemed to be glued closed and his arms and legs felt like they were weighted down or he would have gotten up. Giving up, he finally let his body relax even as his breathing quickened.

It seemed to BA that he had just closed his eyes when he wrenched them open yet again for what seemed to be the millionth time on this never-ending night. At first he was disoriented, unsure of what it was that had caused him to open his eyes, but then it rushed back to him at full speed, and he sat bolt upright aware of how the temperature in the room had suddenly plunged to just above freezing.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a brief glimpse of what appeared to be a little old lady in a glimmering rocking chair, knitting needles flashing ominously, hair oscillating dangerously around her head. For a moment he was reminded of the deadly gorgon sisters he'd read about in junior high school, and fought the desire to cover his eyes with something so he wouldn't turn to stone. He wasn't sure what it was about that particular myth which had stuck with him for all of these years, but it certainly gave him the creeps.

Shaking off his goose bumps, BA turned his attention to what had awakened him in the first place, a change in the rhythm of Dean's breathing. Hovering over the ghostly pale boy was the beautiful spirit that Dean had blasted away earlier that night.

Remembering how the spirit had tossed Murdock into the wall as though he had been nothing more than a mere plaything, BA moved cautiously, not wanting to alert the being to his awareness of it. He painstakingly lowered first one leg, then the other over the edge of the bed, grateful that he had thought to sleep on the very edge.

He silently cursed himself for leaving the shotgun in between the two beds. He would have to turn his back on the spirit to get to it and would not be able to keep her in his peripheral vision. _Damn how long has she been there?_ BA wondered as Dean stopped breathing for a heartbeat.

"You must act quickly, the boy is almost gone," an old creaking voice spoke from the corner of the room BA had seen the old lady in, and the sound of rocking ceased as the ghostly image of the grandma from BA's dreams and her rocking chair vanished.

Shaking his head to clear it, BA gathered his courage and skirted around the bed, lunging for the shotgun only to find that it was no longer where he had left it.

Searching frantically under the bed, he discovered that it had somehow become wedged underneath the middle of the bed – just beyond his reach. He was too big to crawl beneath the bed and wondered if he should wake Murdock or Sammy to retrieve the weapon, but that thought evaporated nearly as soon as it had come when he heard Dean begin to wheeze.

Knowing that time was running out, BA did the only thing he could think of, he stood and slugged the ghost with his fist. Anger powered him and his fist dove right through her ethereal form. He swallowed hard, worried about Dean. Thankfully, though, she turned from the boy and stared, with hate-darkened eyes, at BA.

A lethal look lit her features as she turned her wrath on the retreating form of BA who held his hands out before him, as though to mollify the seething spirit. She continued to advance on him, her features distorted in raw fury, yet the tendrils of her hair continued to wrap themselves around Dean, lifting him gracefully from the bed, cradling his sleeping body.

"Let 'im go!" BA growled at the approaching specter, backing up until he was stopped by the hotel dresser.

She reached out a bone-white hand toward him and grasped his throat. BA vaguely wondered how his fist could've gone right through her, but she could physically attack him as though she had flesh. Her frigid hand seemed to absorb the warmth from the blood that coursed through his veins and stole his breath from him as she gently squeezed his trachea, effectively cutting off his airway.

His vision began to tunnel as he swayed on his feet. In his darkening vision, he saw that Dean, entangled in the ghostly tendrils, still hung in the air. Enraged, he grappled with the cadaverous hand at this throat, pulling back so that his head smacked into the mirror that had been destroyed when Murdock's body had struck it earlier.

Dislodging his throat from her grip so that only her fingertips touched it, he panted for breath, sitting on the dresser. Catching his breath, he rolled off the dresser, feeling sharp claw-like fingernails gouge into the flesh of his neck. He landed beneath the translucent figure and began crawling toward Dean.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, giving him the burst of energy he needed to reach up and seize Dean's limp form and wrest him from the tendrils which held him. An eerie shriek rent the stagnant air as Dean was freed from the tangled mess.

Wasting no time, BA shoved him under the bed and rolled so that he was facing the angered spirit. He wrestled with the apparition, realizing too late that she already had him entangled in her web-like hair. No longer able to move, he looked into her dead blue eyes and felt the life steadily drain out of him.

Memories engulfed him. He felt as though he were floating and, though doubt nibbled at the back of his mind, he felt safe and secure even as his heartbeat quickened its pace and his breathing began to ebb. _She was so beautiful, just like Deborah_…

As Murdock sluggishly began to stir, he felt a small, warm body next to his and for a moment, he was disoriented and thought that he was back at the VA and that Billy, his invisible dog, was lying in the bed next to him. Turning his head, he saw a shock of black hair peeking out from underneath the blankets and realized that a bony knee was smashed uncomfortably against his ribs and a child's hand had snaked its way around his torso.

The small boy snuggled even closer when he attempted to move away from the sweaty bundle curled up beside him. Sighing, Murdock realized that, unless he wanted to wake the child, he would have to stay put. Placing his hands behind his head he winced in pain when they came in contact with the bandage wrapped around his head.

Memories of the night threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered that he and BA had been snug and sound in their hotel room waiting for Hannibal and Face to return when they had heard a noise from the next room and went to investigate. He remembered what BA had told him about the creature that had been the cause of the stitches in his head. Suddenly, he noticed that the air was wintry cold and burned his lungs when he breathed deeply. His eyes widened in panic and fear gripped him when he looked toward the other bed and saw BA levitating in the air, a ghost-like substance surrounding his immobile body.

Gently disentangling the sleeping boy's arms from around him, Murdock hastened from the bed, racking his confused brain for what he should do. _What was it that BA had said Dean had done to get rid of the spirit earlier that night? Shoot it? But with what? _

He had no weapon and was not eager for a repeat performance of being tossed into the wall. _What was it that had been used for ammunition? Something unusual... _

His mind was still fuzzy with sleep and with the injury to his head. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and instantly regretted the movement as it caused the dull headache he had to blossom into a migraine. Unable to think clearly, he grabbed the first thing he could find, a dirty sock that had somehow wound its way off of his foot as he slept. Balling the sock up, he fired it at the being that held BA. The sock unfurled as it soared right through the translucent apparition not even causing it to look in his direction.

Rushing to his friend's side, he grasped one of the brawny arms and pulled, attempting to dislodge him from the ghost's deadly grasp. He pulled harder and fell on his butt, beside the bed. Dizzy, he sat there for a moment in an attempt to regain his bearings.

Dean felt as though he had been sucked down a bathtub drain and spit back out. His body ached everywhere and he had no idea where he was, let alone any recollection of what had happened to him, save for the vague memory of a happy dream he'd not wanted to wake up from.

He wondered fleetingly why he appeared to be on a floor and where his Dad and Sammy were. He felt cramped. He didn't know which way was up and was filled with anxiety when he found that he couldn't move his arms.

Taking in a couple of deep, steadying breaths, he willed himself to calm down and take stock of his surroundings. It was pitch black, he couldn't see a thing, but could feel the coarse fibers of what felt like carpet beneath his face.

That was why he couldn't move his arms; he was lying flat on his face! A few more deep breaths and he rolled onto his back, banging into something that was above him. _Where the hell am I, in a coffin?_

Feeling momentarily claustrophobic, Dean took a few more deep breaths of moldy air and belatedly realized that his eyes were, in fact, closed. He forced first one then the other eye open and found that his eyesight wasn't much improved, it was still inky black.

Cautiously spreading his arms out to his side, he brushed against something cold and metallic on one side and something that felt like a curtain on the other. Turning his head toward the 'curtain', he could make out a long shadowy shape. _Am I under a bed?_

Reaching for the cold metallic object, he discovered that it was the salt-filled shotgun. The night came rushing back to him in haunting images of an injured Sammy, a big gold-covered man with a Mohawk, and a bloody head wound that he had shakily stitched.

Hearing a grunt followed by a thud, Dean pulled the gun over to his side and scooted toward the shadowy fringe that marked the edge of the bed. Pushing the gun out before him, he felt it nudge against flesh and scrambled to find his way out.

Struggling to pull in a breath and speak, he urged his vocal chords to work. At first nothing came out, and he panicked. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, his voice came out as no more than a strangled sound.

Once more, he forced breath in and out of his lungs and words finally came out in a croak, "Take it." He shoved the gun at whomever it had come into contact with, hoping that it would be plucked up and used. He had the distinct feeling that the spirit had somehow come back, in spite of the trail of salt that he'd left earlier.

Murdock became aware of something being shoved at him and heard a fervent whisper to, _Take it_. Unsure of what was and was not reality, he grabbed the object being shoved at him, and vaguely recognized it as a weapon.

Dazedly, he pulled the weapon to himself and stood, taking aim at the thing that was holding his friend three feet in the air. Closing his eyes, he fired, wishing that the Colonel and Face would hurry back. He sent a faint prayer up to the god of aviation that he'd hit his mark, that the pellets wouldn't wound his friend, but free him from whatever it was that had him.

Awareness came slowly to BA. The first thought that entered his mind was that he had been in some sort of fight and was sleeping it off in jail. He ached all over and his head felt as though it had been used as a battering ram. Squinting his eyes against light that threatened to burn them, he let out a low growl and rolled onto his stomach. Instantly regretting the move, his hands flew to his head, cradling it against the shooting pain his movement had caused.

He felt a tentative hand on his back and instinctually batted it away. _No one touches me without getting a fist in the face for the effort._

"Hey big man, it's just me," Murdock murmured, placing his hand on BA's shoulder again.

When he'd pulled the trigger, the spirit had disappeared; Sammy had started crying, and Dean quickly rolled back under the bed as BA's body crashed to the floor. Murdock, with Dean's help, lifted BA to the bed and Dean scurried to replenish the broken salt-lines he had discovered when he went to retrieve the abandoned first aid kit.

A fierce knocking sounded at the door and all of the occupants in the room stilled. Dean hurried over to the TV and quickly turned it on; making sure the volume was loud enough to be heard through the door.

BA was instantly alert, sitting up, placing a hand to his aching forehead. The blasting TV made his head pound even more and he had to strain to hear the exchange taking place mere feet from where he sat. Worried that the police had been called, he held his breath and listened intently.

Dean opened the door a crack to find a harried, disheveled looking, pajama-clad man on the other side. "Everything alright?" He asked, sounding out of breath. "I thought I heard gunshots."

Dean's eyes grew wide and he bit his bottom lip. "No sir, no gunshots, my brother's just watching cartoons. We'll turn the TV down. Sorry for waking you." The lie fell nimbly from his lips and he managed to look sheepish.

The man blinked at him and attempted to peer around him, into the room, but Dean held the door steady and gave the man a hard look.

"Are you sure it was just cartoons?" He had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the TV and Dean sighed in relief when the realization seemed to dawn on the man who shook his head and turned around.

BA stood and flicked the TV off. Stretching, he opened the thick curtains just a little, wondering if any of the other hotel guests had been awakened by the firing of the shotgun. He silently praised Dean's quick thinking. The kid reminded him of Face.

Thankfully no one had questioned the shot fired the previous night. It would have been hard to explain it away for a second time. Though, he believed that, had it come down to it, Dean would have been able to come up with something a stranger would willingly buy.

Rays of pre-dawn were coating the sky an eerie incandescent red. Looking at the strangely intact alarm clock, BA was surprised that it was only five AM. He lifted his eyes to Murdock. They exchanged a look of relief.

Shielding his eyes from the harsh light, BA moaned and returned to the bed, sitting heavily on it. Grimacing at the ugly red marks on his friend's neck, Murdock applied an antiseptic, holding his breath when BA bellowed in pain. He hastily bandaged the scratches and placed the first aid kit back on the nightstand next to the bed.

Dean was sitting next to his brother on the other bed, reading a tattered book to him. Sammy was drowsily asking questions, yawning, on the verge of sleep. Murdock watched the two, amused at Dean's animated reading and Sammy's intense questions. _That kid sure is smart._

Stifling a yawn of his own, Murdock switched the bedside light on and turned off the overhead light, no longer needing it, but wanting a light on for security as the events of the night continued to assault his fragile mind. Stretching, he lie back on the bed and let his eyes slide shut.

Gingerly sitting up, BA glanced over at the brothers, assuring himself that they were okay. Dean lifted his eyes to meet BA's worried brown ones and quickly looked away when Sammy asked another sleepy question. Answering his question, Dean sighed in relief when Sammy closed his eyes and snuggled into his pillow. Now, if only he could get back to sleep. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the headboard behind him.

BA mirrored Dean's gesture, after first confirming that Murdock was asleep. Morning was more than welcome, but he wanted a few more hours of sleep, if he could get them. BA just hoped he would have the energy to make it through to the afternoon when the Colonel would be there to get them out of this version of hell he had found himself in.

He didn't know how Dean managed to take it all in stride at his young age and did not envy him. He would give anything to return to the ignorant state he had been in prior to entering this room. When the afternoon came, he would willingly turn his back on all of this and never think about any of it ever again. The Colonel and Lieutenant couldn't come soon enough for him. _Godspeed Hannibal and Face_, he thought as he once again drifted into a fitful sleep.

XXX

"Quick Face, make a turn here!" Hannibal ordered even as his foot crushed the pedal to the floor of the van and they skidded around the corner the Colonel had indicated.

Things had not gone according to plan. They were supposed to meet their contact, get their supplies, and then get a room for the night before they met up with their contact the next morning for further instructions.

Instead, it had been a set-up from the very beginning. They hadn't realized it until a couple of hours into the charade, and that had cost them precious time. They were now making up for lost time on their rush back to BA and Murdock at the hotel. They had to get to them before they were captured by Douglas Kyle and his goons.


	10. Enter the Goons

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N**: Season 2 Episode 21 "Deadly Maneuvers" of the "A-Team" is referenced.

* * *

Enter the Goons

BA threw an arm over his eyes to block out the weak sunlight that peered at him through the dusty moth-eaten curtains. Groaning, he turned onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow, hoping to be able to return to much needed sleep. Hearing hushed giggles coming from somewhere nearby, he squinted and turned to face the direction from which they had come.

_Didn't I just fallen asleep? What time is it anyway? Isn't it too early for the sun to be out?_ _And_ w_ho_ _the hell is so cheerful at this time of the morning?_ Though he often had to be up by the crack of dawn as a member of the A-Team, he didn't have to like it.

Dean flopped over onto his back, flinging an arm over his head. He let out a soft moan as he pulled the pillow up and placed it over his face, not wanting to get up yet. Sammy should be able to wait a little bit for breakfast. He had gotten pretty good at waiting for his big brother to get up in the morning, though some mornings he would bounce on the bed until he was able to wake his big brother up. That thought had Dean suppressing a groan. _Just a few more minutes or maybe a couple of more hours of sleep and I'll gladly deal with my hyper little brother. Well, maybe not gladly, but less groggily so anyway. _The sound of muffled giggling had Dean removing the pillow from his face and turning on his side.

Dean and BA both sat up just in time to see Sammy and a hunched over Murdock tiptoeing over to the bed, snatching quick looks over at the two lying there, stifling giggles with one hand over their mouth, holding something suspicious looking in the other hand each of them held behind their backs. With a squeal of laughter from Sammy, Dean was hit in the face with a water balloon. The still laughing Sammy hid behind Murdock who had his own balloon in his hand ready to launch. Sammy didn't catch the homicidal look on his older brother's face.

"C'mon Murdo'c," Sammy hiccoughed, "get 'im."

Gulping at the sight of a murderous BA glaring in his direction, Murdock looked back at the huge smile on Sammy's face, and launched the balloon. Picking up Sammy in one swift movement, he ran to the door of the hotel and tore it open, preparing to run out with the boy and escape the wrath of BA, whom he had hit squarely in the chest.

"Looks like we gotta make a quick escape muchacho." He scrambled out of the door, careful to step over the white line of salt.

BA and Dean were almost quicker, but were slowed down by shoes which had been tied together; thankfully the two hadn't tied Dean's shoes to BA's. The duped pair each had their own tangled mess to deal with, however, and it served to effectively slow them down.

_Just how long had those two been up and what other mischief had they gotten into?_ BA thought as he lunged off the bed and fell promptly on his face, anger fueling his movements rather than a cool head which attempted to bring his training to mind.

_I'm gonna kill him. The sucker's gonna die. When Face and Hannibal get back there will be nothing but pulp left of the man, _he determined as he struggled with his knotted shoelaces. W_hat had the fool been thinking? Just how many knots had he managed to tie the shoelaces in?_

He wished that he had taken his shoes off the night before, but he'd wanted to be able to make a quick escape if he had to. It was too late for such thoughts, though. Sammy and Murdock were well on their way to god knew where.

Dean, having been trained by his Dad to check out the situation before acting, even when abruptly wakened, had noticed the state of his shoes and untied them swiftly. _Just wait until I get my hands on you, little brother_, he thought angrily as he planted his feet on the floor.

"We must've been really out of it." Dean surveyed the room, noting that it was in an even greater state of disarray than what the ghost had left it.

The bathroom door stood wide open, water and soaked towels were strewn everywhere. Two abandoned bowls of half-eaten dry cereal had been left on the nightstand. The box was lying open on the floor, the plastic that had held the prize had been discarded on the disheveled bed.

"What time is it?" BA asked, running a hand over his face, no longer in a rush to catch the two delinquents now that he'd had some time to cool off.

Instead, he locked the door, eyeing Dean to see if the young man approved. Nodding, Dean looked at the clock.

"Uh, it's almost eleven."

"Shit," BA cursed as he peeked out of the curtains, surreptitiously watching Murdock and Sammy.

They were still laughing madly, clutching their sides and Sammy was talking animatedly. Narrowing his eyes, he turned back to Dean.

"I say we plan our revenge," Dean stated as he walked into the bathroom and realized that there wasn't a dry towel left, "after we clean ourselves up and get something to eat."

"I'm gonna kill 'im," BA muttered, "I'm gonna kill that fool."

Turning away from the curtain, he looked at Dean and the two of them burst out laughing in spite of themselves. It was a welcome reprieve from the stress of the night before.

"Well, at least they held off for a while." Dean smirked.

He knew that his little brother must have been up for hours and wondered at what little noise he had made. Either Sammy had been enticed to be quiet, or he had really been out of it. Dean was sure that Murdock had something to do with his little brother not pouncing on him before now. He'd have to thank him for that, after he killed him that is.

As BA and Dean cleaned up the room, letting Murdock and Sammy play outside, they plotted their revenge.

"Okay Dean, you call them in, I will be in the bathroom…" BA's voice was cut off by the sound of squealing tires.

Racing to the window, they both clambered to look out and make sure that Murdock and Sammy were okay. BA drew in a shocked breath as he recognized the driver of the dark blue sedan that had come to a halt in front of the room that he and Murdock had vacated last night.

Kyle was accompanied by a couple of other men and BA was filled with dread. There was no sign of Face and Hannibal, though his eyes scanned the parking lot for his van.

Averting his eyes from Kyle and his henchmen, BA looked off in the direction that Dean's eyes had traveled to; Murdock and Sammy were playing what looked like hopscotch on the sidewalk, just a few feet away from Douglas Kyle. Neither of them had appeared to be aware of the car that had come to a screeching halt a few feet away from them.

Though Dean didn't know who those men were, he didn't like the dangerous looks on their faces. Thankfully they hadn't seemed to notice Sammy and Murdock. Their eyes were locked on the room next door and Dean heard BA take a deep, nervous breath. He felt the man stiffen.

Both of them headed toward the door at the same time. BA pulled Dean behind him and listened at the door. Kyle and the two men with him were knocking at the door of the room that he and Murdock had been in just twelve hours ago. BA heard them burst into the room and prayed that Murdock would not do something stupid.

"Stay here Dean, I'm gonna go and get Sammy and Murdock." BA turned to the young boy who struggled against the hold that he had on him.

"Who are those men?" Dean's cold eyes locked with BA's.

He didn't want anything to happen to his baby brother and suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whoever those men were, they were after BA and Murdock. For all he knew, they could be bank robbers or murderers, or worse. Dean eyed BA warily, there was no way he would let him go after his brother.

"Dean you gotta trust me." BA got eye-level with the young man, and spoke hurriedly, "Those men are dangerous. I gotta make sure they don't get Murdock and your little brother. I won't let anything happen to Sammy. I promise."

Unconvinced, Dean squared his shoulders and stuck his chin out defiantly, "I'm going with you. Sammy is my responsibility. I can't let anything happen to him."

"Fine, but we gotta get goin' before Kyle sees 'em." BA turned from Dean, opening the door. He could hear Kyle and his goons ransacking their room.

"Stay behind me," he admonished Dean who nodded curtly.

Mirroring BA's movements, Dean followed the big man, quietly stalking past the door that had been left only slightly open by Kyle and his goons. Murdock and Sammy were still playing their game, laughing hysterically when BA and Dean walked up to them.

"Was wondering when you'd be coming along big man," Murdock said soberly when he and Sammy were overshadowed by the approaching man.

Keeping a smile on his face so as not to alarm Sammy, he gestured toward their room.

"Now, I figure we got a couple minutes at best 'fore Kyle and his men notice we ain't there and aren't comin' back. I say we skedaddle on out of here."

He should've known that, in spite of his seeming nonchalance, Murdock had taken stock of this situation, BA shook his head.

"Yeah, we gotta git outta here," he agreed.

Looking around, he wondered just how they would accomplish that, short of taking Kyle's car from out of under his nose. The only other vehicles in the lot were the Impala and the hotel owner's station wagon.

Face and Hannibal were still hours away by BA's estimate. He'd either have to hotwire Kyle's car, and though he was up for that, he doubted that would be the best move to make, or the station wagon. He didn't want to take the Impala out of respect for Dean, but, if it came down to it, he would.

"Well, well what have we here boys?" BA turned to find a smiling Kyle and one of his goons holding a squirming Dean. "Why don't you come on into the hotel room and let's have us a little chat shall we?"

"You let my brother go!" Sammy had stopped giggling when he noticed the men come out of the room and he ran toward the man who held his brother.

BA grabbed the boy around his waist and pulled him up off the ground. Sammy thrashed and kicked at BA, but he didn't loosen his grip on the wiggling four-year-old.

"Sammy! Calm down," Dean ordered as he stopped struggling with the man who held him.

He concentrated on calming down so that Sammy wouldn't get scared and do something to get himself hurt. _I have to use my head so that we both get out of this alive. I really wish that my Dad and Bobby would come back right about now._

The man holding Dean tightened his grip on the young boy and backed into the room he had just come out of. Kyle and his other goon followed, keeping a gun that had seemed to come from nowhere, trained on BA and Murdock. When they had all entered the room, Kyle gestured for third man to secure the door and for BA and Murdock to take a seat on the bed furthest from the door.

Dean was placed in a chair; the goon who had held him pulled out a gun and aimed it loosely at Dean, eyeing BA and Murdock, making it clear that should either of them try something, Dean would be hurt. Sammy was settled on the bed next to Murdock and sent a tearful glance in his brother's direction.

"I'm hungry Dean," he said, patting his tummy, bouncing on the bed.

"Sorry Sammy, think you can wait a little bit? We can get hamburgers at the McDonald's down the street if you wait. What do you think?" Dean tried to put as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could so that Sammy wouldn't be scared even though he himself was terrified.

_What do these men want? Will they really kill us? I have to get Sammy and himself out of here A.S.A.P. _Ghosts and demons, he understood, knew what to do and could handle himself, but people, he just didn't get them.

"No." Sammy shook his dark head vehemently, sticking his tongue out defiantly; seemingly unaware of the danger they were in. "I don't want M'donald, I want sketti o's."

"Okay little brother, just wait a little longer and we can have some Spaghetti O's." Dean smiled reassuringly, though he felt shaky on the inside. He was rewarded with one of Sammy's bright smiles in return.

"Now isn't that adorable." Kyle grinned viciously, looking back and forth between the brothers, kneeling so that he was eyelevel with Dean.

"Whaddya want Kyle?" BA narrowed his eyes at the dangerous man.

"How old are you?" He ignored BA, keeping his eyes on the boy.

"None of your business." Dean glared back at the man, setting his jaw.

"Ooh, he's a defiant one." Kyle laughed and turned toward Sammy. "Hiya Sammy, how old is your big brother?"

"Eight and a half," Sammy said, his lower lip trembling in a pout. He scrambled to his feet and Murdock grabbed hold of him before he could launch himself at Kyle. He didn't like how that man was looking at his big brother, it made his tummy feel sick.

"Woah there big fella," Murdock said in a soothing voice. Sammy reluctantly sat down when Dean shook his head slightly.

"Isn't that cute?" Kyle shook his head and turned toward BA. "Sure would be a shame to separate these two. They seem so close, don't they?"

"You leave these two outta it." BA scowled at the man.

"Well, sorry there, but seeing as how they are perfect leverage, I can't really do that." Kyle patted Dean on the cheek.

Dean cringed back from the touch glowering at the man.

_Right about now would be a great time for last night's ghost to show up_, BA thought as his arms were tied behind his back by one of Kyle's henchmen. Murdock's feet were tied, but his arms were left free to help out with Sammy.

"What do you want Kyle?" BA asked again.

"Same as always, to capture the infamous A-Team and make them pay for all the trouble they've caused every day, upstanding citizens, like myself." Kyle leaned in the doorframe of the bathroom, his gun held lazily in one hand.

"Face and Hannibal ought to be here soon." Kyle looked at his watch. "And then I'll have you all right where I want you."

"Ah, I see now." Murdock winked at Sammy who was getting restless. "The ducks have all been placed in a row and the hunters are awaiting their quarry. Makes me kind of feel all fluttery inside."

"Shut up fool," BA growled at his friend.

"I gotta go," Sammy whined, bouncing on the bed, his eyes on the bathroom door where Kyle was standing.

"We wouldn't want an accident." Kyle moved out of the doorway and Sammy raced into the bathroom. Stopping just inside the door, he threw a look toward Dean.

"Dean, can you come with me?" Sammy asked hopping on one foot.

Dean looked over at Kyle who nodded. He gratefully jumped out of the chair he had been held in and joined his brother. Shutting the door behind them, Dean resisted the urge to lock it, knowing that Kyle would just shoot the knob if he did that. Leaning heavily against the bathroom door, Dean closed his eyes and sunk to the floor. _I have to think of a way to get Sammy out of there_.

Vaguely aware that Sammy had washed his hands and was now kneeling next to him, grabbing his hand with one of his own, trying to pull him to his feet, Dean shook off the weariness that threatened to claim him and stood to his feet. Resolving to do whatever it took to get him and Sammy away from these men, he formed a quick plan and, pushed Sammy behind himself.

He called out embarrassedly, "Um, you think you can get us some toilet paper in here?"

"Use some Kleenex or a washcloth," Kyle called back.

"C'mon man," Dean whined. Sammy started giggling, but Dean shushed him with a stern look.

"Fine," Kyle ordered one of his men to get some toilet paper from the room next door, where they'd heard BA and Dean come from.

"Okay Sammy, we're gonna play hide-and-seek," Dean whispered.

Sammy began to shake his head no, remembering the dream he had the night before. He was starting to get scared. He'd had fun playing with Murdock, but the men with the guns were scary.

"Come on, it'll be fun Sammy. You'll hide in the bathtub, I'll hide right here, between the toilet and the sink. Go ahead, get into the bathtub and lie down."

Sammy reluctantly crawled into the tub and when he was lying down, Dean pulled the shower curtain closed. Panicking, Sammy popped his head up and looked around the edge of the curtain.

"Dean, I'm scared."

"I know Sammy, but I'll be right here. Do you trust me?"

Sammy's head bobbed up and down, his eyes wide.

"Then lie down and don't get up until I tell you to, okay?"

Sammy nodded and hid once more behind the curtain. He hoped he wouldn't have to hide for too long; his stomach was really hungry and kept growling. He worried that someone might hear it and find him it was so loud.

There was a knock at the door, Dean took up a position behind the bathroom door and called out a hesitant, "Come in."

The knob twisted and a hand reluctantly made its way into the bathroom intending to deposit the toilet paper on the sink.

"Um, can you bring it in? I can't really reach it."

Dean almost chuckled as he heard the man arguing with his cohorts. The man made his way gingerly into the room, and Dean pounced on him from behind, slamming the door shut on the man's ankle. Crying out in pain, the man swung his gun hand in Dean's direction.

Kyle chuckled at Barry as the man unwillingly made his way into the bathroom. He glanced back once, a pleading look in his eyes and Kyle gestured for him to continue into the bathroom, shaking his head as the man reluctantly did so. _One would think he had just asked him to walk the plank. _Kyle thought_. _

Turning his attention back to his two other captives, Kyle grinned maliciously, pointing his gun first at one man and then at the other. "I wonder who Hannibal will choose first," he said snidely, "will it be his faithful sergeant or the mad man?"

"Watch who you callin' mad," BA grunted.

"Ooh, BA I didn't know you cared." Murdock batted his eyelashes and reached for the man who pulled away from him.

A sharp cry and the sound of the bathroom door slamming caused all four men remaining in the room to turn their heads. Randall readied his gun and made his way to the bathroom, followed by Kyle. Both men positioned themselves on either side of the bathroom door, not sure what to expect.

"Barry, how you doing in there?" Randall called out. The sounds of a struggle could be heard behind the closed door.

BA wasted no time in working the ropes around his wrists loose when Kyle and Randall left them alone. Murdock worked frantically at the knots around his ankles, effectively loosening them. Both men were ready to make a move on Kyle and Randall when the tense silence that had fallen upon the room was shattered by a single gunshot followed moments later by a second echoing gunshot and then a deafening silence.

Hannibal had given up trying to reach BA and Murdock with the phone in the van after what must have been his hundredth call. He couldn't understand why they hadn't answered any of the calls. He had started calling right after Face and he had found out it had all been a set up. He worried that Kyle already had his men as Face finally steered the van into the hotel's lot. Seeing the dark sedan where the van had been the day before, he was out of the door before Face had even parked the van.

Pulling out his gun, he poised his fist to knock. Face was beside him a moment later, his mouth set in a grim line, gun held firmly in place. Both men positioned themselves on either side of the door, preparing to enter. Hannibal's fist froze on the door, his knock never having landed when a gunshot rang out, taking what little hope he had left that his men were okay.


	11. Lost and Not Yet Found

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

Lost and Not Yet Found

Somewhere in the San Jacinto Mountains

John picked his way through the brambles as he and Bobby slowly made their way up the mountainside. It would've been a silent ascent, had it not been accompanied by Bobby's grumbled insults which punctuated the air every five minutes or so.

Suddenly tired and weary of the needling, John stopped and looked back at the friend he had gained by necessity a few years ago when his wife was taken by the Yellow-Eyed-Demon. He and Bobby would never have crossed paths had it not been for the supernatural and the loss of their wives.

"Alright, out with it," John spoke gruffly gesturing for Bobby to speak.

"You shouldn't have left them alone in that hotel." Bobby glared at John, removing his sweat soaked cap to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

"Drop it," John growled warningly.

Recently it seemed to him that the man had taken too much of an interest in how he raised his boys. Dean was more than capable of taking care of his younger brother for a few days on his own, and Sammy seemed to do better with his big brother taking care of him than with him. He didn't stop to contemplate how that made him feel.

Dean was great with his little brother and John was, if he were completely honest with himself, a little envious of the relationship that the two shared. It was as though they really did not need him at times. Most of the time he was happy with how things were, as it enabled him to pursue his hunt for the Yellow-Eyed-Demon all the more earnestly.

"Is that your answer to everything regarding your boys? Drop it?" Bobby ground out, hoisting himself up, using a low-hanging branch. Had he been looking up, he would have caught the dangerous flicker of anger that crossed John's face.

"They are _my_ boys Bobby, not yours, _mine_, and I will raise them as I see fit. Dean is more than capable of watching his brother for a week." John resumed his climb, causing small rocks that had been dislodged by his feet to rain down on Bobby's head.

Grunting, Bobby deflected the rocks and continued the climb. "Are they yours? Seems lately they been spending a lot of time with me or Pastor Jim, or on their own."

"You don't want them staying at your place, I won't bring 'em by anymore," John ground out, his jaw locked hard in anger.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Bobby huffed, "those boys are always welcome, anytime, no questions asked. I just think they need their Dad to be around more often. Someone else could've done this hunt. Caleb and me, hell, just about anyone could'a done this hunt. This is one hunt you didn't need to be on and you know it."

"No, I don't. I did the research, I figured out that those men were being led astray by a Gwyllion; therefore I am the one that needs to do the hunting. If you don't want to be along, well feel free to head on back." John continued his climb unaware of the glare of disgust that Bobby shot in his direction.

"Oh no you don't, I am not leaving you to hunt this thing on your own. I will not be the one to return to your boys without you. I won't be facing a distraught Sammy and an incensed Dean," Bobby punctuated each word with a grunt as he struggled to maintain his handholds on the rock face.

"Then stop your bitching," John muttered.

Shaking his head, Bobby continued his climb in silence that was disturbed only by his and John's labored breathing. Had either of them been thinking clearly, they would have realized the eeriness of the silence that shrouded them and they would have been alerted to the presence that watched them as they climbed.

The Gwyllion watched the men as they climbed and their arguing brought a tight smile to her disfigured face. These two would be easy to confound. They couldn't even get along with each other.

She would twist their sense of direction around so that, not only would they would be lost, but they wouldn't even be able to find each other. She anticipated the lonely despair that would settle on them once she isolated them from each other and then began to feed on that sweet, lonely sense of hopelessness.

Yes, time was on her side, and the fact that these men appeared to be hunting her was…entertaining. By the time she was finished with them, they would be worn down to little more than shadows of their former selves, melting into the crevices that creased the mountains she had grown quite fond of over the centuries. It wasn't quite dusk yet, she would wait, bide her time and wait. She had learned to use approaching darkness as an ally. She could be patient. Time was all she really had, that, and the souls of the lost.

Finally reaching the summit of the mountain, John stood and arched his back, working out the kinks. He lowered his pack onto the ground beside him and waited for Bobby to reach the top. Taking out his canteen, he took a long swallow of the cool liquid and capped it, leaving enough for several more drinks.

Pulling out his binoculars he surveyed the path they had just climbed and grimaced at how far down it looked. He trained them on the woods that climbed the mountain and looked around for any sign of what they were hunting, though he knew that it probably wouldn't show itself in the daylight. There were still a couple of hours left until dusk.

He was surrounded by beige-brown rocks that jutted around him. Paths led in multiple directions. Brush, cacti, and every now and again, a tree dotted the mountaintop. The missing men could've ended up anywhere. There were some tales John had heard which claimed a Gwyllion had the ability to take a man from one place and put him anywhere in the world that she wanted to, he hoped those tales were not true.

"Give a man a hand up?" Bobby reached up toward John who had just turned his binoculars in another direction to look for one of the missing climbers.

Putting the binoculars down, John reached for Bobby's hand and helped haul him up over the edge. Bobby walked away from the edge of the mountain and sighed heavily. Taking his ever present hat off, he wiped the sweat from his face and swallowed nearly half the water from his canteen in one long sip. Placing his pack next to John's, he watched as John once again brought out the binoculars and searched the area around them.

"Find anything?" Bobby asked.

"Not yet," John grunted in reply.

"Kinda quiet don't you think?"

"Yeah, it is that." John shrugged noncommittally. "We're pretty high up, not much can live up here."

"Still there should be birds or something," Bobby pressed.

"Hmmmm…" John trailed off, bringing his binoculars down to his side.

"What? You got something?" Bobby grabbed the binoculars from his friend and took a look around. Nothing as far as he could see, not even a cloud hung around them.

"Just thinking." John slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed away from the edge of the mountain toward the subalpine forest; Bobby let out a frustrated sigh and, grabbing his own backpack, followed.

After a few minutes of walking in exasperating silence, Bobby ventured another attempt at conversation with his choleric pal. "You wanna let me in on what it is you been thinkin'?"

"Just that you were right about it bein' a little too quiet. I think maybe we're bein' watched." John continued walking, a deep frown creasing his mouth.

"Hmmm…wonder where it is?" Bobby once again attempted to draw his fellow hunter into discourse.

"If I knew, we wouldn't be walking in the woods." John plodded forward; unaware of the obscene gesture Bobby aimed in his direction.

"Alright then, where do you think we ought to begin our search for this Gwyllion?" Bobby murmured. There was a reason most hunters worked alone, and why John Winchester, in particular hunted alone, and Bobby was beginning to understand the reason why, with striking clarity.

"Already begun searching. Seems to me that the men she led astray were off of the main trails and away from the mountain stations. They got passes, but never came out and the only reason it came up on my radar is what one of the surviving family members said about his dad calling home and hearing a wailing sound in the background. Like a woman crying for help. His dad went to check it out and never came home." John stopped walking momentarily, gaining his bearings.

"Huh…so why here? Why not on one of the trails? She could've misled them from there," Bobby puzzled.

"Exactly. If I were to lead someone adrift, I would've taken 'em from the main trail and stranded them as far away from the beaten path as I could. Somewhere like here. This is the best chance we have of finding and stopping her and maybe even finding and recovering her latest victim. He's only been gone a week." John resumed his march through the trees, his eyes scanning the area for movement.

"So now you're thinking like the monsters we're hunting?" Bobby sounded a bit unsettled at the prospect.

Was his friend losing his mind? Was John's obsession with finding the demon that killed his wife consuming him so much so that he had begun to lose his grip on reality? Was John losing his sense of humanity? He remembered reading something somewhere about profilers of serial killers getting into the mindset of the person they were attempting to bring to justice. Maybe that was what John was doing. Question was: what kind of toll would that take on the father of two? How would that affect Dean and Sammy, having a father who thought like monsters?

"I do what I gotta do Bobby. It's not like I'm turning into one of 'em. In order to kill 'em, we gotta find 'em and to do that, we gotta think like 'em. I don't like it no more than you, but this monster has already killed ten men in the past five years and hundreds in the past century. She is nasty and mean and who knows what she does with the men once she gets them lost? It seems she's picked up her pace this year as four of the ten were taken in the past eight months." John ground his teeth, clutching the strap of his backpack so that his knuckles were a deadly white.

Silence greeted his outburst and John turned to glance briefly at Bobby whose head was turned toward the ground.

"What? No snappy comeback?" John ground out angrily.

"Shhh…" Bobby had stopped walking, his dark eyes flashed as he looked up to meet John's brown ones, holding a finger up to his lips, he titled his head as though listening for something.

Mimicking the gesture, John listened too. Though he had no idea what he was listening for, he had learned to trust his friend's instincts. Sure, they fought, especially when Bobby brought up his sons, but John trusted him with his life and knew he could rely on the older hunter's intuition. Bobby hadn't lived this long through sheer dumb luck alone, the man knew what he was doing and he was damned good at it. When the shit hit the fan, John knew there was no one he would rather have with him than Bobby Singer.

After what seemed like hours, Bobby stopped listening and drew John's attention to something he had seen on the floor of the forest they had been exploring. Footprints, faint and faded, had been packed into the hard earth. Crouching, Bobby traced one of the vague tracks with a calloused finger and grinned up at John.

"Looks like someone's been here. Tracks are only a couple of days old."

Squinting in the waning light, John searched for more traces of the tell-tale shoeprints of an experienced hiker, hoping to be able to follow a trail to the missing man His heart skipped a couple of beats when he picked up the trail and he beamed at Bobby.

"There's more in this direction. Path looks easy enough to follow."

The men followed the tracks in silence, each anticipating meeting up with a lost and confused man who would be bewildered, but ecstatic to be found. Though neither would admit it, they were both excited about being able to bring someone home alive. Too often, the hunters only encountered death and brought death in their wake. But this time, they were determined to bring someone out alive, neither doubting that, against all odds, the man had survived the brutal wilderness on his own.

When John suddenly stopped walking, Bobby accidentally bumped into him. "Trail stops here," he stated dejectedly, checking for footsteps branching off from the path they had been following.

Crouching down, Bobby noted that it looked as though whomever they had been trailing had simply disappeared into thin air. Letting out a burst of air, Bobby stood and stretched, scanning the area for any signs of the hiker for whom they'd been searching.

"It's starting to get dark; we better set up a camp somewhere." Bobby walked toward what looked like a clearing.

Both men made their way to the clearing, neither looking at the other. Bobby got some stones and made a ring for a fire; John set up a salt line surrounding their makeshift camp. After gathering some wood and starting a fire, Bobby got out his sleeping bag and started to go through his backpack, getting out those things which would be necessary for making a simple supper of pork and beans, supplementing the meal with bread.

John got his own sleeping bag out and helped Bobby prepare the evening meal. They ate in silence, watching the fire as dusk settled. Each lost in his own thoughts, neither man attempted to break the quiet.

"Guess I'll take first watch," John broke through the stillness as the moon rose, bright and full. "I'll wake you in three hours."

"Sounds good." Bobby pulled his trucker's hat off and settled into his sleeping bag. Closing his eyes, he was asleep almost instantly.

When Bobby had begun to snore, the Gwyllion stood at the edge of the salt line that surrounded their camp, opposite of where John was looking. She watched the men from her vantage point and marveled at their clever protection. The salt line would keep her out, but she did not need to reach them to fulfill her plan. She just needed to convince them to leave the safety of their salt and fire. She would work first on the one that stayed awake, watching.

Transforming herself into the form of the one they had been searching in vain for, it had been she who had laid those deceptive tracks, she approached John's line of sight, staying well away from the ring of salt, and adopted the voice of a man who was lost and in pain.

"Help! Somebody, help!" She called.

John's eyes narrowed as he looked in the direction of the voice. Though it was dark, the moon illuminated a slim figure clinging to a tree that appeared about twenty feet away. He couldn't be sure, but it looked as though the figure was shivering and unable to stand upright. John was aware that it could be a trap.

Though he didn't remember coming across anything in his research which indicated that a Gwyllion could shapeshift, he stayed where he was, but stood slowly to his feet.

"Over here," he called, waving his hands. The figure let go of the tree and swayed, falling to the ground.

"Help!" She called out again, keeping her voice low and anguished, as though in pain.

She was imitating the voice of the man who she had recently mislead and taunted. He had sounded desperate and willing to do anything. She had laughed, reveling in his ambrosial anguish.

When she had come to him in human form, he had begged her to give him a drink of water. He had been covered in festering cuts and bruises and was no longer able to walk upright. She had given him her hand, promising water.

He took her hand and twisted in excruciating pain as she brought her lips to his in a savage embrace and breathed in his final torture-filled spasms. She made it last as long as she could; it was pure ecstasy taking a man's very essence.

She didn't want it to end and when it did, she shook his unmoving form in a rampage until she heard the distinct cracking of bones. She tossed his useless form from her, barely noting how it struck a tree, head lolling like some abandoned rag doll.

Her hunger barely satisfied, she roared in agony and tore up the ground around her in a blind rage until her wrath had been satisfied. It seemed that her hunger had become an insatiable passion in the recent years. Maybe it was the increased numbers of men who traversed her territory or maybe she was evolving into something far better than what she had once been. A mutation would explain her increased appetite. Whatever the reason for the augmentation of her longing to feed on the desperation of men, she only had one thing on her mind, finding new prey.

John looked over at Bobby. He was still sleeping; the man's cries for help had not awakened him. Toying with the idea of waking the hunter and going to retrieve the man who had now fallen onto his knees, John opted for calling out to the man once more.

"Come on, you can make it, just a bit further."

The man continued his painstakingly slow crawl, seemingly heartened by John's words. John kept up his barrage of encouraging words as the man closed the distance between them.

"Just…want…a….drink…of….water…" the man panted as he inched forward and collapsed to the ground unconscious, just a few feet away from where John and Bobby were safely tucked away.

Checking his shotgun, John stepped over the salt line and rushed to the man's side. Kneeling next to him, he turned the still body over and felt for a pulse. Holding his breath, he let it out when he felt a beat beneath his fingertips. Still crouching over the silent form, he watched the man's chest, sighing in relief when he caught a glimpse of upward and downward movement. He was still breathing.

John only closed his eyes in relief for a brief second. When he opened them again, he was no longer looking at the still form of an unconscious man, but the piercing blue eyes of a monstrous-looking woman who shot out a hand and twisted his arm painfully behind his back. Stars blurred his vision as he bit back the tears that automatically formed in his eyes.

He struggled to bring his weapon around, but found his other arm uncooperative as she had an icy grip on his shoulder. The gun slipped uselessly to his side. _Bobby, I have to call out to Bobby,_ he fought to gain control of his voice, but could only manage to grunt in pain.

_Since when can a Gwyllion change shape?_ He found himself wondering as though he were divorced from what was happening to him.

She still had his arm pinned behind his back, and it was going numb. She pulled him away from the safety of the camp that he and Bobby had set up a few hours ago. _Wonder where she's taking me?_ He thought as the pain began to cloud his consciousness.

"Clever boys," he caught the sound of her raspy voice and attempted to turn his head to face her. "How did you know about the salt and the fire? And how did you be coming to hunt the likes of me? You know my kind is nearly extinct. Not all of us are as bloodthirsty. Perhaps I am transforming so that my kind will not be extinct. We serve a purpose you know." She wrenched his arm, eliciting a reluctant whimper from her captive. "Not all men are virtuous. I choose those who aren't. I can be kind."

She wrested her hostage around so that John could see her face. Far from the kindness she claimed to be in possession of, her face portrayed a malicious look of greedy hunger. Her rotting teeth showed in what John assumed was meant as a smile, but which appeared to him to be a hideous contortion. She was the ugliest creature he had come across in a long time and her breath nearly caused him to pass out; it reeked of death and decay.

"What are you going to do to me?" John asked warily.

She had only dragged him for a short time, but he had become completely disoriented and had lost his sense of direction.

Grabbing his chin in her rough, liver-spotted hand, she lifted his eyes to meet her own.

"John," her voice was silky, "I am going to enjoy you. You aren't like the rest, you will put up a fight and you will try to find your way home to those two boys you abandoned."

His eyes flashed in anger at her words.

"Unfortunately you will be unable to return to them." Patting him on the cheek, she stood and laughed, taunting him.

"What do you know about my boys?" He attempted to rise, but she pinned him in place with a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I was listening to you and your compatriot. The anger and resentment were quite tantalizing, but I had to wait. You see darkness is so much easier to work with," her voice had taken on a lilting quality.

She sounded crazed out of her mind to John. How was he going to escape her clutches? What exactly did she do to the men that she had captured? From what he had read, a Gwyllion simply led men astray and left them stranded.

She was somehow different from those he had researched. He hoped that Bobby had somehow been awakened and was even now looking for him. Surely he couldn't be that far from their camp. It hadn't even been a half an hour yet.

"It sounds like you have little time for your boys anyway." She traced his cheek with a cracked fingernail. "Maybe I will let your friend live. He can go back to your boys. Seems like he cares more about them than you do. Or maybe I will take him too; I have been so hungry lately."

Before he knew what was happening, she had once again grasped his arm and pulled it painfully behind his back. He was being dragged again, further away from Bobby, further from his boys. The Gwyllion picked up on his momentary sense of despair and breathed it in, savoring it.

His arm was twisted behind him, nearly out of the socket and she continued to pull on it mercilessly. The pain soon became a dull ache as he lost sensation in that arm. He attempted to stop his backwards movement by reaching out for trees with his other arm, but each attempt was met with a stronger force and his hand was ripped away from the branches, leaving it bloody with scratches.

Trying to get to his feet proved to be an exercise in futility as well. She continued to drag him along until he was no longer able to keep his eyes open. He was vaguely aware that she was keeping up a steady monologue about other hunters who had stalked her in years past. She had bested them and was sustained for years on their life force. She was sure that John and Bobby, for she had decided that she would have him too, would sate her as the others she had taken this year had not.

As John blacked out, he sent a brief prayer out to Bobby to get out safely and back to his boys. He wished that he had sent Dean and Sammy to stay with the seasoned hunter instead of dragging him out on this hunt with him.

_Dean, take care of Sammy. Boys, I love you, take care of each other._ He took comfort in the knowledge that at least his boys were safe and sound at the hotel and that Bobby would somehow find his way back to them. He would not be as easily tricked by the Gwyllion as John had.

Noting that her prey had finally lost consciousness, the Gwyllion left him, his arm twisted at an awkward angle beneath him. She went back for the other man, sure that she would be able to capture him just as easily. When she neared the edge of their camp, she assumed her guise and walked up to the edge of the salt line.

Letting out a strangled breath as he twisted in sleep, Bobby's eyes slit open as he repositioned himself. Not seeing John's watching form, he came fully awake and sat up in his sleeping bag.

Looking around for John, he called out for him and when he didn't answer, he mused that perhaps he had gone to relieve himself. He waited, later he would curse himself for having waited the three minutes that could have brought him closer to rescuing John, but at the time he was being courteous, not wanting to rush the man.

Looking at his watch, he realized that John had only been on watch for about two hours and he gave him another minute to return. When he didn't return, Bobby got out of the sleeping bag and walked over to John's, noting that both the man and his shotgun were missing.

Securing his own shotgun, Bobby started at one end of the salt line surrounding their camp and worked his way around, searching for his friend. When he returned to where John should have been keeping watch, he caught an elongated shape a few feet away and left the safety of the circle, careful not to mar the line.

Glancing around in paranoia, Bobby made his way to the odd shape and discovered John's abandoned shotgun. _Damn it John, what the hell happened?_ Bobby fumed as he grasped the missing man's gun and trained his eyes on the ground around him.

Kneeling, he found traces of what looked like someone being dragged from the camp. Debating whether he should follow the trail while it was still fresh or wait for John, he returned to the safety of the circle that surrounded the camp and gathered supplies for the search.

On a hunch, he put more wood on the fire before he started out; backpack slung on his back, flashlight in hand and shotgun at the ready. He followed the trail he was sure would lead him to John and prayed that the man would be alive when he found him.

He swallowed back the bile that surged in his throat at the thought of facing a stony-faced Dean and teary, wide-eyed Sammy should he be unsuccessful in finding their wayward father. He was grateful that the two were safe and secure at the hotel they had left merely twenty hours ago.

In spite of his disapproval for how John raised his boys, he knew that the man was right, Dean, even as young as he was, could handle himself and take care of Sammy. It was almost as if Dean were the younger boy's father.

Shaking his head in sorrow, Bobby continued to follow the trail, hoping he would find his friend intact at the end of it. _Well, at least Dean and Sammy are alright_. He let that thought comfort him as he set out to find John and return him to his boys.


	12. Found

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N**: Violence and death mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

Found

Room 101

Time stopped. Face's hand was on the doorknob; Hannibal's was in a fist halted in mid-knock. A moment later, their hearts beat again and everything seemed to speed up as Hannibal's fist was brought down to his side and Face swung the door open, training his gun to the ground before him. Hannibal looked one way, Face the other.

BA and Murdock acted at the same time, Murdock charging at Randall, BA at Kyle. Both men were taken by surprise by the joint attack and the invasion of their room.

BA wasted no time in slamming a fist into Kyle's face and wrenching the gun from the man's hand. He was barely aware of Murdock's battle with the other man and was completely unaware that Hannibal and Face had entered the room. Though he had taken the gun out of the man's hand, he tossed it to the side and continued to pound on him relentlessly. He saw only red and acted purely on his hatred for the man. His fear for what might have happened to Sammy and Dean fueled his anger.

Murdock was having a more difficult time subduing Randall as the man was slightly bigger than he was. They wrestled for control of the gun and ended up falling onto one of the beds, Murdock caught beneath the heavier man.

Neither man had heard the Colonel and Lieutenant enter the room and continued to fight each other, oblivious to anything other than their own struggles. Murdock was finding it hard to breathe as his ribs were crushed beneath the man who looked more and more like some cast-off amateur wrestler to the nearly hysterical pilot.

_Probably has some name like Body Crusher or Tarantula_, he thought as he tried to wriggle out from beneath the man who had him pinned to the bed. His head began to throb in time to the beat of his heart and he started to see stars.

_Have to get this behemoth off of me,_ he thought as he pressed his arms up against the man's chest to no avail. As a last ditch effort, Murdock bared his teeth and viciously bit the nose of the man who continued to confine him beneath his body.

Letting out a strangled cry of pain, Randall moved and Murdock was finally able to move away from his captor. He kicked the man in the knee and rammed his elbow as hard as he could into the thug's lower back. Blood flowed crimson from Randall's nose and Murdock grinned manically as he concentrated on breathing, willing the black dots that threatened to overtake him to go away. He sent one last blow to the back of the groaning man's head, temporarily stunning him.

Face and Hannibal entered the room, ready to defend their teammates, but found they were, for the moment, unneeded. Hannibal assessed BA and Murdock for gunshot wounds and seeing that neither man appeared to have been shot, sighed in relief.

Face watched as BA disarmed Kyle and Murdock fought with the other man. Face readied himself to join the fight when he noticed that Murdock was having difficulty with his opponent.

Hannibal watched BA pummel Kyle and realized that, if he didn't do something soon, his friend was going to kill the bastard. Though he felt that Kyle's death would be no big loss to the world, Hannibal knew that when he came to his senses BA would never forgive himself for killing the man in a blind rage.

Tucking his gun in his belt, he knelt beside his teammate and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, hoping to stop the man's blows on the now completely unconscious Kyle. BA didn't seem to notice Hannibal's presence which startled the older man. He grabbed BA's arm as he pulled it up for another punch and attempted to halt the attack.

"BA stop!" Hannibal shouted, "It's over, you stopped him."

BA remained unresponsive and shook Hannibal off, landing another punch to Kyle's bloody face.

"Face! Get over here. Help me with BA," the Colonel called, oblivious to Murdock's struggle against his assailant.

Face wavered between the two and opted to stash his own weapon and come to Hannibal's aid. They each grabbed one of BA's arms apiece and attempted to wrench him away from Kyle. Face grit his teeth as he fought against BA's strength. Hannibal kept trying to break through to his Sergeant with shouted commands that remained unheard.

An anguished cry came from the direction of the bathroom and BA's arm stopped mid-swing, hovering over the bloodstained face of his enemy. Hannibal and Face were still straining to pull the big man's arms back, and when he went slack, they both lost their grips and flew backwards, Face banging his head against a chair in the room. He rubbed his head while glaring at BA.

Hannibal just grinned, his teeth tight around a cigar that dangled from his mouth. "Glad to see me?"

BA growled at Hannibal and stood, heading for the bathroom door. Murdock reached for the handle at the same time and flinched back when he saw the gore that colored the man's numerous rings red. He let BA pull the door open, and, though he swayed slightly on his feet, he prepared himself to take on the man who had accompanied Dean and Sammy to the bathroom.

Blood had been splattered everywhere. It stained the sink, coagulated in the cracks of the bathroom tile, left spatters on the mirror, was smeared on the toilet, and dotted the shower curtain; it was everywhere.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Murdock shook himself and entered the small room oblivious to the sticky substance that coated the bottoms of his black and white chucks; BA stood back looking in awe at the mess that greeted him. His eyes searched for the two small boys in the midst of all the blood.

Face looked at Hannibal; an unasked question graced his flawless features. Hannibal shrugged and stood from where he knelt beside Kyle. Finding the rope that BA had been bound with, he turned the bloodied Randall over and tied his hands and feet.

Murdock may have been smaller, but he had fought strong and hard and dirty. The man was still slightly stunned and cradling his nose when Hannibal pried his hands from his face to tie them together behind him.

Face checked the motionless Kyle for a pulse and, finding one, tied the man's hands and feet with the rope that had been used on Murdock. He felt very little sympathy for the man who had used his friends as pawns to trap Hannibal.

Leaving the man where he lay, he stood and stretched out the kinks in his back and neck, gingerly massaging his neck muscles, he glanced around the room. It appeared as though BA and Murdock hadn't even slept in it, he doubted that they had expertly made the beds this morning.

His eyes soon fell on the bathroom door which lay wide open. The sanguineous scene was almost too much to stomach and brought back memories he quickly pushed aside. _No need to go there right now. Won't be any use to anyone with those kinds of thoughts._

That's when he noticed that Murdock was standing smack dab in the middle of the gory scene. The pilot looked dumbstruck and Face found himself moving toward the man almost on instinct. Hannibal stood off to the side of the open door talking in dulcet tones to Murdock, though it looked as though the man wasn't hearing a word the Colonel said.

"Murdock, I'm sure that you didn't mean for it to happen. This man held you captive. It was self-defense," Hannibal repeated, hoping to get through to the shocked man who was staring straight ahead and whose lips were moving without forming any words. Taking stock of the situation and noting the injury to Murdock's head, he cursed inwardly sending a dark look in Kyle's direction.

"Hannibal, you got it all wrong man. Murdock didn't do this," BA had finally found his voice and was able to see that Barry lay sprawled on the floor at Murdock's feet, blood pooling out from the single bullet hole in his head.

His eyes also found what he had been searching for. Crouching on the other side of the toilet, clutching the gun in trembling hands was Dean. BA could see that the kid was in shock, his eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and his eyes never left Barry's still form.

A purpling bruise, the shape of a hand, graced Dean's right cheek and a red streak of blood dribbled from a cut at his hairline. Had the boy been shot or had Barry cut him with the sharp ring he wore on his hand when he'd struck him? BA growled low in his throat and he glared at the now dead Barry, wishing he could've had a chance at him. He would've been begging for death by the time BA had finished with him.

Pulling Murdock from the room and situating him on the bed, trusting that Hannibal or Face would take care of the man; BA returned to the bathroom and squatted in front of Dean, whose face was deathly pale. He looked cold and clammy as he shivered in the corner between the toilet and the bathtub.

Not taking his eyes off the kid, BA pulled open the curtain just enough to be able to see inside. Taking his eyes off Dean momentarily, he was relieved to find that Sammy lay at the bottom of the tub. He was trembling slightly, but seemed okay. Smiling at BA, he sat up and prepared to leave the sanctuary that his brother had sequestered him in, but BA stopped him from leaving the tub.

"Face, can you come in here?" BA called, his eyes never leaving Sammy's.

Grimacing in distaste, the man reluctantly got up from his position on the bed next to his catatonic friend and entered the blood-stained bathroom. He avoided looking at the corpse and cleared his throat urging BA to hurry up with whatever it was he wanted him to do.

"There's a little boy in the bathtub, you gotta get him outta here without him seein' any of this."

BA's gaze never left a corner of the bathroom and, curious, Face allowed his own eyes to wander to the corner. He saw an ashen, sandy-haired boy crouched between the toilet and bathtub, gripping a gun so hard that his knuckles were bone white.

"Face, you gotta get the kid in the tub outta here," BA's harsh voice startled him into motion.

He tore his eyes from the frightened kid huddling in the corner to the bathtub. Prizing back the shower curtain, he looked inside and found a dark-haired, four-year-old staring up at him with large tear-filled eyes, thumb tucked securely in his mouth.

Blinking in confusion, Face turned on one of his famous smiles that always worked with the ladies and reached down for the boy, more than eager to get out of the bloody bathroom. He had no idea what had happened or who these kids were, but he would do as BA asked.

When the kid made no move to reach out to him, he stooped so they were eye-level and stretched out a hand in greeting.

"Hi kid, the name's Templeton Peck, but you can call me Face. What's your name?"

He was nervous that the kid would start screaming or crying, he didn't have a way with kids, why couldn't BA have called for Hannibal or Murdock instead? Oh yeah, Murdock was kind of out of commission and Hannibal was the best one to deal with that, so that left him. Just his poor luck that it was a kid and not a lady.

Much to his surprise, the kid pulled his thumb out of his mouth and took his hand. "I'm Sammy. Where's Dean?" He asked with worry clouded eyes. "He told me to hide in the tub, an' I did."

"BA's with him." Face smiled encouragingly, assuming that the sandy-haired kid was Dean. "You ready to get out of that tub?"

Sammy eagerly nodded, he had been stuck in the tub for ages and even though Dean had told him to wait until he told him it was okay to get out, he thought Dean wouldn't mind because his big brother was with BA. He stood on wobbly legs and prepared to step out of the tub, but the man who called himself Face quickly picked him up.

"We're gonna play a little game, okay?" He asked Sammy who nodded against his neck.

"Close your eyes tight until I tell you to open them, alright?" He felt the kid nod once again and turned his head to make sure that he had closed his eyes.

Face turned around so that the boy's back would be toward the bloody mess which left him facing it squarely. Averting his eyes as much as he was able to, he inched his way out of the room, Sammy wriggling in his arms. When he left the room, he placed Sammy down on the other bed and sunk down on the mattress himself.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now," he stated when he realized the kid had made no move to open his eyes.

Brown eyes peered into his and he gave the boy a tremulous smile. "You did real good," he praised the kid who beamed back at him.

Hannibal was seated next to Murdock, one hand on the man's shoulder, the other twisting the cigar in his mouth. He whispered soothing words to the pilot, hoping to break him out of his state of shock. Nothing was working.

"C'mon Murdock, it's alright now. Everything's just fine," he consoled, "Hey, how'd you get that lump on your head? You and BA come to blows?" He tried joking. The pilot continued to stare into space, not seeing.

Sammy jumped off the bed and ran over to the immobile man, grasping one of his hands in his own.

"Hey Murdock," he said enthusiastically, as though nothing had happened, "let's play hopscotch!"

He bounced up and down in front of the man who was uncharacteristically still, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Though the gunshot had spooked him a little and he wondered what was taking Dean and BA so long, he was not unused to hearing gunshots on TV and had never before faced anything even remotely life-threatening; Dean had always come and comforted him when he needed and even if he stayed hidden extra long during hide-and-seek on the rare occasion when they played it, he knew that Dean would never let him down, he always found him.

'Sides, Dean was with BA and Sammy knew that if anyone could keep his big brother safe it would be the big, scary-looking man. He could keep anyone safe. He was probably big enough to keep the whole world safe. The men who had taken him and his brother had scared him, but Dean promised to protect him and he could see that the men were tied up, so everything was okay now.

Hannibal looked over at Face, a plea in his eyes and the younger man reluctantly got off the bed and walked over to where Sammy was.

He ruffled the boy's hair and said, "You wanna go play hopscotch with me?"

He would rather be sitting next to Murdock than play hopscotch with the kid, but knew that Hannibal would not leave the incommunicative pilot's side.

Sammy continued to hold Murdock's hand, a thoughtful look on his face as he tilted his head to look closer at the impassive man he had come to think of as a playmate, it didn't seem as though the man was much older than himself, he was even more fun to play with than Dean was.

Ignoring Face, he squirmed his way up onto Murdock's lap and sat so that his face was inches from the stationary man's. Placing his arms around the still man, he wrapped him in a hug and squeezed him tight. Hannibal attempted to pry Sammy loose, unsure how the pilot would respond in his state of shock, fearful that he might inadvertently harm the little boy.

Sammy clung tightly to Murdock and patted his back as Dean had done so many times for him when he had awakened from a scary dream.

"It's okay, I'm here. Nothing to worry about. It was just a bad dream," he said, not knowing how else to comfort his newfound friend. He rocked back-and-forth, repeating the words in a soothing sing-song voice as Dean had done for him countless times. "It'll be alright."

Much to Hannibal and Face's surprise the immobile pilot began to respond to Sammy. He brought his arms up around the little boy and hugged back. They sat hugging each other for a while before Sammy pulled back, a big smile dimpling his face. Murdock smiled back.

"Hey there little buddy," he spoke softly.

"Wanna go play?" Sammy practically leapt off Murdock's lap. "Dean's with BA. We can play hopscotch and then we can have lunch and then maybe go to the park."

He pulled at the man's hand and Murdock found himself following the bundle of energy out the door, leaving behind a bewildered Colonel and Lieutenant. It seemed as though the pilot was completely unaware of their presence. Face quickly followed the pair out the door, leaving Hannibal behind.

Hannibal turned his attention to the bathroom, where BA was talking softly to a second child. Wondering what had happened while he and Face had been gone and just how long his team had been in the clutches of Kyle and his goons, he shook his head and watched as BA finally succeeded in getting a response from the kid.

Who were these kids and why were they with BA and Murdock? Had Kyle and his men been the cause of the injuries that he saw on his pilot and the bruises he saw on the boy BA had called Sammy? Just what had Kyle done and who had shot the man in the bathroom?

Standing over the only other conscious man he could find in the room who might be able to answer a few questions, Hannibal smiled and began to question Randall, "So, what the hell happened here?"

Finding it hard to breathe through his broken nose, Randall glared back at the Colonel, panting heavily. "Nothing that you and your team didn't deserve."

Grasping the man by his shirt collar, Hannibal hoisted the man up, grinning when the man winced at the action. "The way I see it, you and your boss here have been bested." He shook the man slightly as he spoke. "No reason not to spill what happened here." He tossed the man back down onto the bed.

Randall fought to catch his breath, refusing to meet Hannibal's eyes. "I'm not telling you anything."

BA made himself look as non-threatening as he possibly could, squatting on the bloodied floor across from the stiff form of Dean. Though people often feared him because of his tough-looking exterior, it was widely known at Boys and Girls Clubs that he was a big teddy bear when it came to kids.

He had made a vow never to harm a child and had volunteered at a variety of youth clubs wherever he and the team ended up when they had to relocate because the military was onto them. Many kids had been helped by BA, he just had a way with them and now he was going to help Dean.

The kid was tough, but BA knew that killing a man, even one who had held him and his brother hostage, was not going to be easy for him to deal with on his own. Once again he found himself wondering where the boys' father was and cursing the man for his negligence. If he had been here, none of this would have happened. When he got his hands on that man, not even God's angels would be able to help him, he vowed.

"Dean, look at me," BA coaxed in a low voice void of any emotion.

Dean continued to stare at the dead man in front of him.

"Dean, you did what you had to do," BA spoke calmly. "He was going to harm you and Sammy. You just did what you had to do. Look at me, come on kid."

Dean's hands began to shake violently, but his eyes did not waver from Barry's unmoving form.

BA's legs were beginning to burn with the effort of squatting on the cold tile floor. He wondered how long he would be able to keep this up without falling over on his ass.

"Dean, you are one of the bravest people I've ever met, eight and a half and older. You did what you had to do to protect Sammy and yourself, even me and Murdock. You did nothing wrong. What you did was strong and brave. I'm proud of you," BA said honestly.

Dean looked up sharply, his green eyes piercing BA's, a look of hurt, mixed with guilt tore at the older man's heart.

"You can give me the gun now." BA reached out a hand, tottering slightly.

Dean looked down at the gun in his hand, a puzzled look on his face as though he hadn't realized he had been holding the gun at all. He turned it over, eyeing it curiously. Shrugging, he turned the gun around so that the butt faced BA and the barrel was pointing to the floor before handing it over to the man, everything his father had taught him about the proper way to handle guns had become ingrained in him and had become second nature, even in a situation such as this.

Marveling at Dean's attention to proper gun handling, BA checked the safety and, noting that it had been secured, sighed deeply in relief. Tucking the gun behind him, he waited for Dean to make a move toward him. He knew that the kid was still in shock and didn't want to startle him or cause him to retreat further into himself.

"Okay Dean, here's what we're going to do; you are going to sit on the edge of the tub and work your way over to me. We're going to leave the bathroom and go find Sammy."

Dean looked into BA's eyes once more, confusion pooled within the depths of vivid green.

"Sammy!"

Panic erupted in his chest and Dean sprang up from where he had been crouching since everything had begun and he frantically pulled the shower curtain back. Pure white emptiness greeted him and he swooned.

BA wasted no time springing into action, catching the boy before he fell. Gathering the protesting Dean into his arms, he carried him from the bathroom, closing the door behind him as he went, blocking out the gory scene once and for all.

"Sammy!" Dean pounded against BA's chest, trying to get away, "Where's Sammy?"

BA sat Dean down on the chair, placing his face directly in front of Dean's so they were eye-to-eye as he spoke, "Sammy's okay. He's with Murdock and another friend of mine, Face."

Dean twisted around in the chair continuing to look for his baby brother, a frightened look in his eyes as he frantically searched for his brother.

"Dean, I promise you, Sammy is okay. Look at me."

Dean studied the man's face.

"Sammy is alright, you kept him safe. He's right outside with Murdock."

Sagging in the chair, Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a tear streaked its way down his face and he took in a shuddering breath. Wiping the tear away, BA pulled Dean into a hug which was at first stiffly refused, but seconds later, ferociously returned.

"He's really okay?" Dean sobbed into BA's shoulder.

"Yes little man, he's okay." BA nodded, cradling Dean's head, consoling the young boy in a manner in which Dean hadn't been comforted in since his mother had been taken from him four years ago. For the first time in a long time, Dean felt safe.

Hannibal turned away from the man he had been questioning to look at BA, catching the tail end of the exchange between the desperate kid and his steady sergeant. Giving a nod of approval, he returned to the bound man, a boyish grin on his face.

"Hannibal, BA, we got trouble!" Murdock slid into the room with Sammy in his arms.

"What is it Captain?" Hannibal kept his eyes on Randall, causing the man to squirm in anticipation of pain he was sure he would soon be feeling.

"Sirens headed our way." Murdock skidded to a halt just inside the door. "We gotta split. Could be local police, could be military."

Hannibal, amazed at the sudden change in his pilot, yet grateful, took the keys for the van from his pocket and headed for the door, placing a hand on BA as he passed, a signal for the man to join them.

Scooping up Dean, BA followed Hannibal out the door, shutting in the unconscious Kyle and his men. Racing to the van, BA threw the side door open and deposited Dean onto the back seat before running to the driver's side.

Catching the keys that Hannibal tossed his way, he started the van just as Hannibal was getting in on the passenger's side and Murdock was slamming the sliding door shut. Tires squealing on the gravel of the parking lot, BA pulled out onto the street as a contingent of military police pulled into the lot on the other side. Hopefully they hadn't seen the van. He pressed down on the accelerator and sped down the highway, leaving the military and the hotel behind.


	13. The Great Escape

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

The Great Escape

On the Run

"Who're the kids BA?" Hannibal asked around the cigar that was gripped firmly in his teeth.

He held onto the handhold above the passenger door to keep himself in place as BA took a sharp corner, leading them into an alley and further away from their pursuers.

"I'm Dean Winchester and this is my brother Sammy," Dean gestured behind him.

He had positioned himself directly behind the passenger seat and held on as the van took another sharp curve. Though he still felt a little shaky, the current situation had helped to snap him out of his fearful stupor.

"How old are ya kid?" Hannibal glanced back at the boy, surprised that he could stay somewhat upright in the van with BA's fast driving.

He was crouched, clinging to the back of the passenger seat, looking out of the front windshield as though ready for action. The kid kind of reminded him of Face on one of their missions. Sure Face often appeared nonchalant and unbothered, but when push came to shove, the man followed through, and with an intensity that often surprised the colonel. He saw the same fierce intensity echoed in Dean Winchester's eyes.

"Eight," Dean's eyes narrowed as he spoke, "and a half. Sammy's four."

"Dean Winchester." Hannibal's eyes took on a look of reminiscence, as he thought back many years ago. "Any relation to a, let me see…" he tapped a gloved finger on the side of his face.

"John Winchester?" Face supplied. He remembered the name. "Wasn't he a Corporal in the Marine Corps or something?"

"Yeah." Hannibal smiled, removing the cigar from his mouth as the van careened around a corner at tire squealing speeds. "He was a rifleman with Echo 2/1. Always wondered what happened to him. He sure seemed to have a temper. Heard he was a good soldier though."

"He was," Dean said defensively.

He'd seen the medals in the box his father carried around with them and knew that his Dad was a brave man and even a hero.

"I ain't arguing with ya kid." Hannibal turned a toothy grin in Dean's direction just as BA hit a corner at neck-breaking speeds. He swung back around to the front, bracing himself in the seat."Take it easy huh BA."

BA's response was a low growl as he floored the gas pedal, causing the van to lurch forward and Dean to be tossed into the front. Hannibal caught him before his head made contact with the dashboard.

"You'd better sit down kid." Hannibal pushed him toward the floor of the van.

Dean sat there for a minute, taking stock of the situation. He needed to be able to look out of the van, to keep track of which direction they were headed in so that he could get him and Sammy back to the hotel before their Dad got back. It never hurt to be aware of one's surroundings either; something that his Dad had taught him and constantly reminded him.

"_Dean you always gotta keep an eye out for where you are. Know where you are at all times. Your life, Sammy's life could depend on it."_

Dean inched his way up so that he could see out of the windshield; he stayed on his knees and kept his hands on the back of each of the front seats to keep from being thrown forward again. He didn't understand what had happened back at the hotel, why BA and Murdock had taken him and Sammy, who the other two men were, and he wondered dispassionately if they were being kidnapped.

Why were they being chased by the police? Was it because of what had happened in the bathroom? How could the police know about it so soon? He hadn't meant to shoot the man, but the man had tried to hurt Sammy. Would he have to go to jail? Would he and Sammy be taken from their dad? Would he constantly be on the run from the police now? What would his Dad think of him when he learned about what he had done? That last thought scared him the most.

What would his Dad, John Winchester, think of what he had done? What would his Dad do when he found out that he had killed a man? His Dad, who had insisted that he learn how to use a weapon properly, had always admonished him never to point a loaded weapon at another human being, ever. Would his Dad ever forgive him if he found out what he had done? Would he turn him into the police himself, turning his back on him forever? Dean shuddered at the thought and his eyes glazed over as he stared, unseeing, out of the front windshield of the van.

He remembered the plan he had made to get him and Sammy away from the men and wished he had never attempted it. It had almost instantly backfired on him when the man had come into the bathroom.

He had grabbed Dean and shook him, demanding to know where his brother was. He had threatened to shoot him and had pointed the gun at his head. That hadn't scared Dean as much as when he turned the gun in the direction of the bathtub where Sammy lay, hidden.

When the man had done that, Dean had gone for his gun hand and was rewarded with a sharp slap across the face. His head snapped back and made contact with the sink. He bit the man's arm and fought with him for control of the gun that kept pointing dangerously in the direction of where his little brother hid.

They wrestled, the gun wavering in a multitude of directions. First in Sammy's direction, then in Dean's, at the ceiling, the floor, at the man who held the gun, then back at Dean. Dean lost track of what was happening and where the gun was pointed, he concentrated solely on trying to wrest the gun from the man's hand. He had no intention of shooting anyone, just wanted to keep his little brother safe as he had promised.

What happened next was a complete blur to Dean, but he heard the gun go off. It was so loud in the small, confined bathroom. Louder than when he had practiced shooting at Bobby's and even louder than the shotgun had been.

The sound echoed through him, he could feel the vibration of it in his bones. He felt like he had been punched hard in the stomach, as though the bullet had impacted his own flesh. It took him several seconds to realize that the blood pouring out onto the tile was not his own, but that of the man who had, moments before, been fighting for control of the gun which had somehow become sandwiched between them.

Dean sat stunned for a few minutes, listening to the gurgling sounds coming from the man he had become wedged beneath. Not daring to look at the man, he pushed the suffocating weight away and shivered at the sudden impact of cool air that sent goose bumps along his flesh.

Pulling away from the gasping man, Dean stared at the blood that had soaked his arms and the gun that lay silent in the palm of his trembling hand, not understanding how it had gotten there. He stared at the man whose mouth opened and closed as though attempting to breathe in spite of the bullet in his head.

The blood pooled beneath him on the cold, unrelenting tile. The blood spread along the patterned tile, like red, spidery veins threatening to swallow him. Dean stood abruptly, backing away from the mess of red that licked at his sneakers.

Placing the gun carefully on the edge of the sink, he turned on the hot water and washed the blood off his hands. There was so much of it. He watched it swirl down the sink, pink as it mixed with the hot water. The whirling pattern mesmerized him. It was so easy to wash away, and yet some of the blood clung stubbornly to the creases of his knuckles and the lifelines of his palms.

He scrubbed at the resilient remnants of blood which refused to be washed away. The water scalded him, but he continued, oblivious, rubbing at the obstinate crimson that tarnished his hands. Fearful that the stain would remain forever, a reminder of the man whose breathing had ceased, Dean scoured at the offending spots until the flesh of his palms was raw.

The indistinct din of fighting coming from somewhere outside of the bathroom finally shook Dean from his frenzied hand washing. Blinking in the suddenly harsh light of the single bulb that hung above the cracked mirror, Dean reluctantly turned off the faucet, watching the surplus water, now running clean, empty itself down the drain.

Grasping the gun in wet, chafed hands Dean sought cover, crying out as he tripped over the man who morosely continued to bleed. Sliding himself in between the toilet and the tub, Dean held the gun in both hands, training it on the door, praying he would not have to use it again.

His eyes strayed to the now still form of the man who had entered the bathroom very much alive mere moments before Dean's current nightmare had begun. Biting down hard on his lip to keep from crying out again, he tore his eyes away from the motionless body which lay sprawled awkwardly on the tile of the bathroom floor and readied himself as the knob of the door twisted and the door swung inward.

Dean's eyes slid once more to the man whose blood now tainted the once spotless bathroom, painting it a morbid ruby color. He didn't notice the men who entered the bathroom; his eyes had become anchored to the still form. He didn't notice when Sammy had been taken from the room.

His own body had become stiff and cold as he crouched in his hiding spot, back to the wall, allowing him uncompromised visibility of the entire room, though he saw only, as though through tunneled vision, the man whose dead eyes appeared to be staring at him. Why hadn't his eyes closed as they did in the movies? Dean wondered.

The pounding of his heart was the only thing Dean could hear, betraying the fact that he had survived with each and every audible, disjointed beat. It drowned out every other sound, lulling him with its consistent drumming. Da dum…da dum….da dum….da dum….he imagined that it came, not only from him, but also from the man whose blood had been spilled all over the white tile.

As long as his heart beat, everything would be okay. He held onto the promise of life it revealed, the sweet reminder that all would be well, that the blood which pumped through his veins was not that which crept along the floor, making its way toward him, threatening to oust the one who had shed it.

He sluggishly became aware of another sound threatening to overpower the drumbeat that had become his lifeline, and fought its tranquil influence. Tearing his eyes away from the grisly scene which had entrapped him, he heard a ghost of what at first he thought was his father's voice, saying, "I'm proud of you…"

But the gentle brown eyes which caught his own were encased in the dark face of the man who had come to his and Sammy's rescue the night before and had led to their eventual capture, which led to this very moment. Dean readily gave up the weapon when BA asked, eager to be rid of it, knowing that it would be safer in the big man's hand than it was in his own. He had killed a man.

A single name reached Dean's ears, reminding him of his duty to watch over Sammy. Thoughts of what his brother could have witnessed and the irrational fear that some of the blood which colored the bathroom walls a reddish brown was somehow Sammy's, Dean's heart leapt into his throat.

He no longer worried about his guilt or the blood that crawled toward him along the tiled floor. He had to find Sammy; he had to make sure that his little brother was okay. Unwilling to take the big man's word for it, Dean looked around frantically, hoping to find his little brother safe and unharmed in the bathroom that had been freshly redecorated in blood. When he didn't find Sammy, he clawed at the shower curtain, desperate to find him.

"Sammy?" The movement of the van as it jerked around another corner jolted Dean out of his reverie.

Memory and reality collided as Hannibal once again caught Dean, this time keeping a hand on the boy's shoulder, pushing him down to the floor so that Dean could not return to a kneeling position.

He struggled to remember where he was and what was going on, his thoughts were a jumbled mess and his breath came in wheezing gasps. His vision swam in bright crimson and he struggled to keep his eyes open against the assault of red. He had to find Sammy, make sure he was okay.

The arm that held him in place was strong and unrelenting. His attempts at escape were met with an equal and opposite force, making it impossible for him to move. He was finding it increasingly harder to breath and his hold on consciousness was fading as the recent memory of the fight for his life blended with their flight in the van. No longer cognizant of what he was doing, Dean struck out at the man that held onto him with strength doubled by adrenaline borne of fear.

Hannibal gasped as the sucker punch that Dean aimed at his gut made contact, surprising him with its force. The kid could sure pack a hell of a punch. Grimacing around his cigar, he increased his grip on the boy's shoulder and held him more firmly in place. The military police weren't far behind and had taken a few shots at them, apparently unaware of presence of the children in the van. If Dean didn't stay down, he could get shot.

"Dean, stay down!" BA ordered as he urged the van to go faster and put more distance between themselves and their ruthless pursuers.

Something about the tone of voice broke through to Dean and he stopped struggling with the Colonel, becoming alarmingly slack under the man's hand.

Hannibal looked down at him, immediately concerned by how pale he had grown and the lack of alertness in his eyes; he resembled nothing of the boy who had reminded him of Face just a few minutes ago. He was staring straight ahead, unseeing, the same look that Murdock sometimes got when he was reliving something particularly unpleasant.

_Oh shit, the kid was losing it. _As soon as they lost their tail, he would have BA bring the kids back to the hotel. To be honest, he wanted an explanation as to why the kids were with them in the first place. They didn't need to add kidnapping to their list of crimes they hadn't committed.

"I gotta pee." Sammy wriggled in his seat next to Murdock.

"Sorry kiddo, you're gonna hafta hold it." Murdock smiled down at Sammy, ruffling his hair.

"When're we gonna get lunch?" Sammy turned his brown puppy dog eyes on Murdock.

"Here, I got a candy bar somewhere in my pocket." Murdock rifled around in his pockets and produced a chocolate bar, unwrapping it and handing a square to Sammy, popping a square into his own mouth.

"Thanks." Sammy held out his hand for another square, licking the chocolate off of his fingers and smearing some of it on his chin.

Face turned to the two, flashed a tense smile and held out his own hand for a square of the chocolate, his other hand firmly held a gun off to the side. The two sure made a picture sitting side-by-side on the seat, eating chocolate as though they hadn't a care in the world.

Face knew that it was a show on Murdock's part; he had caught the rigidity of his smile, though he doubted Sammy had. Few people could tell when HM Murdock was merely playing a part and when he was truly, seriously crazy. Face was lucky to be one of those people. He returned his gaze to the window next to BA, popping the piece of chocolate in his mouth, savoring the sweet taste.

"Dean." Sammy bounced up from his seat, only to have Murdock clamp an arm around his waist before he could reach his big brother, smashing the piece of chocolate he clutched in his hand.

He turned an indignant glare on the man who had kept him from giving the chocolate to his brother.

"Sorry muchacho, you gotta stay put." Murdock plucked him back on the seat beside him, keeping his arm around Sammy's shoulder as the van took another hairpin turn.

Sammy continued glaring at Murdock, eating the melted chocolate before folding his arms across his chest and pouting, his lower lip trembling impressively. "Why does Dean get to sit up front? He always gets to sit up front, I never get to sit up front; it's not fair."

"Cause he's bigger," Murdock supplied, "I never get to sit up front, BA does cause he's bigger and the Colonel does, 'cause he's bigger. Now that I think about it, you're right, it ain't fair." Murdock furrowed his brows, folded his arms across his chest, and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout to match Sammy's.

"Oh now look you two." Face turned to them, gesturing in a placating manner. "You just gotta wait 'til you get older."

"You're sitting in the back too." Sammy turned his pout in Face's direction.

_The kid could melt even the most hardened hearts with a look like that_, Face thought.

"True, but I ain't complaining. Sitting in the front is highly overrated, all the best stuff happens back here."

Face gave Sammy one of his patented grins, guaranteed to win over even his strictest of critics. He remembered a young woman in particular; back when Murdock had still been in the VA. She had been a hard one to scam, but when he turned that grin on her, it had worked like magic, and, judging by the wavering pout, it was working on Sammy.

Murdock, on the other hand continued, pouting stoically, turning his full attention on Face.

"And just what is the best stuff, huh Faceman?" He countered.

"Um…well, we get to…we get to…" he floundered trying to think of an answer that would satisfy the pilot.

Leave it to Murdock to question him. He knew that it was all to keep Sammy preoccupied so he wouldn't think about just how badly he had to go to the bathroom, how hungry he was, or figure out that something was wrong with his brother, but still, why did Murdock always do this to him?

"We get to throw empty candy wrappers at the back of their heads," Sammy supplied sullenly, his pout diminishing slightly.

Face could picture a recalcitrant Sammy doing just that, though he somehow doubted he or Murdock would be able to get away with such a thing as BA would pound them and Hannibal would probably throw them out of the van and make them run behind claiming they needed a 'workout'.

Nodding, Face smiled openly. "There you go. And…" he trailed off again, racking his brain for what other benefit those always sequestered in the backseat could lay claim to as the van once again banked around a corner, throwing him against the side of the van.

"I suppose, I suppose we always get a lot of leg room back here." Murdock's pout remained firmly in place, but he stretched his legs out further than they already were.

Sammy quickly copied the movement, struggling to keep from falling out of the seat.

"And…" Face continued the charade, a questioning look firmly in place.

"You can thump the seat in front of you until your big brother turns around and threatens to hit you." Sammy's pout was replaced with a simple frown.

"Ah, I wouldn't suggest doing that to either BA or Hannibal," Face advised sagely, "I mean, I don't think either of them would be much appreciative of that."

"Dean doesn't like it either." Sammy shot a dark look his direction. Face had to choke back a laugh as he could see that Sammy was completely serious.

"And everyone knows that the people in the backseat are the ones really in charge of the whole operation, operationally speaking." Murdock nodded emphatically.

Sammy duplicated the nod, sharing a look of conspiracy with him.

"I suppose you could say that," Face conceded.

"Who do the frontseaters ask for directions? The backseaters." Murdock was on a roll, thumping his chest with his thumb, as he rallied to the occasion. "And who do they ask when they want a sandwich or a piece of juicy fruit gum?" His voice rose fractionally and he narrowed his eyes. "The backseaters. And who do you think they come to when they want a tissue?" Murdock turned wide, gleaming eyes to Sammy.

"The backseaters," he answered confidently.

Face shook his head in baffled amusement. Just how far was Murdock going to take this? Pretty soon, backseaters would be the ones called on when the President of the United States needed a little advice. The new superhero rising up from the backseat to right society's wrongs and usurp the power wielded abusively by frontseaters, it kind of had a ring to it if one really thought about it. Face lost track of the conversation in his musings and much to his disappointment discovered that Sammy and Murdock were now talking about his friend's invisible dog, Billy.

"Think we lost 'em" BA glanced in the rearview mirror as he expertly navigated a narrow dirt road.

"Good work BA." Hannibal grinned, releasing his grip on Dean. "Soon as you can, pull over, we need to talk."

"Sure thing Colonel." BA's eyes never left the tree-lined road as he looked for a good place to hide the van.

Even though he felt confident that he had lost the military police through the twists and turns he had taken, it never hurt to be extra cautious. Spying a side road, BA took it and followed it to what looked like an old abandoned farmhouse. He parked the van beneath a large oak tree, out of sight of the road they had taken to the dilapidated farmhouse.

As soon as the van stopped, Murdock had the side door open and was gesturing for Sammy to jump to him. Face hopped out, stretching his back, a look of pain crossed his face as he cracked his back.

"Think you took those corners fast enough BA?" He complained as the big man walked around to where they waited for him and the Colonel.

BA cracked his knuckles and scowled.

"Thanks for getting us outta Dodge." Murdock smiled at BA, rocking back on his heels.

"Where's Dean?" Sammy tugged on Murdock's bomber jacket.

"Uh, he'll be out soon. Colonel's talking to him." Murdock smiled down at Sammy. "You still gotta pee?"

Sammy's dancing from foot to foot was all the answer he needed. Taking the little boy's hand he steered him around to the other side of the van and walked a few paces away urging him not to 'pee into the wind'.

"Hey kid," Hannibal hooked a gloved hand beneath Dean's chin, raising his head so he was looking him in the eye, as he spoke, "why don't you come up here, sit in the driver's seat?"

Dean stiffly moved from his position on the floor of the van and sat in the seat indicated by the white-haired man who was, for some incomprehensible reason, grinning.

Twirling the cigar in his fingers, Hannibal eyed Dean who squirmed under his scrutiny. The look made him feel uncomfortable, kind of like the look his Dad gave him while he waited for him to confess something. The same look his Dad gave him when Sammy claimed that Dean had done something he shouldn't have.

"Sorry I hit you," the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He lowered his eyes to study the hem of his t-shirt.

"You sure pack one hell of a punch." Hannibal grinned from ear-to-ear and Dean looked up, startled at the compliment and at the twinkle he saw in the older man's blue eyes. "You'd have done BA proud on that one."

Holding out a hand, Hannibal waited until Dean returned the gesture. "John Hannibal Smith," he introduced as he shook Dean's hand.

"Dean Winchester." Dean held Hannibal's eye contact and shook the man's hand firmly, as his father had taught him.

"Looks like we gotta set you up with a new shirt." Hannibal took in the bloodied garment with only the hint of a grimace. "Face!" He called out of the open window of the van.

Face trotted over to the open window. "You rang," he said sardonically.

"You got a shirt the kid can use?"

"Sure, sure, let me just…" Face trailed off, muttering something about how he had just bought a new silk shirt and had been planning on using it for his upcoming date with Sylvia this Saturday, but no, he would have to give up his new, hundred dollar shirt to a waif they had picked up at a hotel.

He hopped into the van, and, in spite of his grumbling, held out the black silk shirt to Dean with a toothy smile firmly in place. It was only then that he took in the full appearance of Dean. The kid looked like he hadn't slept in days; he had a purpling bruise on both of his cheeks and a cut on his forehead and the t-shirt he wore looked like it had been dyed in blood.

"Uh, perhaps you ought to clean up first," he suggested, turning worried eyes toward Hannibal.

"Yeah that might be a good idea. Face, you and Murdock go check out the farmhouse, see if anyone lives here. Get a layout of the land. We don't want any surprises. I need to talk to BA. Keep Sammy with you. I don't think he needs to see this." He cast an apologetic look in Dean's direction.

Dean simply nodded, seeming to notice the blood-caked shirt for the first time.

"Dean," Hannibal waited until Dean's eyes moved from studying his shirt to meet his own steady gaze, before speaking, "you stay here and keep a lookout. If you see anyone coming or notice anything out of the ordinary, honk the horn."

Something told him that Dean was used to following orders. He had not missed the fact that the kid had stopped struggling for control when BA ordered him to stay put. He hoped that giving Dean a specific task would keep his mind off of what had happened at the hotel room and his eyes off his bloodied garments.

"Yes sir," Dean answered automatically.

Impressed with the lack of argument and the sharp tone in Dean's answer, Hannibal saluted him before stepping out of the van. Dean saluted back, a big grin on his freckled face in spite of the circumstances.

Chuckling to himself, Hannibal shut the door to the van and gestured for BA to follow him a short distance away. He didn't want to risk being overheard by Dean.

He waited until Murdock, Face, and Sammy had gotten a safe distance away; he really didn't want the sensitive pilot hearing what he had to say to BA. He laughed at how Murdock and Sammy skipped along, followed by Face who appeared to be reminding them that they were supposed to be on the lookout for potential threats.

He finally threw his hands in the air and ran ahead to join the pair. Hannibal wasn't really worried. The place was rundown and it looked like no one had driven on the dusty road in quite some time. He had sent them on the mission as a diversion.

"What you want Hannibal?" BA asked impatiently, arms angrily crossed over his chest.

This wasn't going to be easy.

"BA, you know we can't keep them," Hannibal cut to the chase, waiting for his Sergeant to explode.

"Hannibal, we ain't takin' 'em back." BA glared back at his colonel, daring him to contradict him.

"BA, you don't want to add kidnapping to the charges against us, do you?" Hannibal asked sensibly.

"Hannibal, you don't know what happened back there," BA ground out, "I ain't bringin' 'em back."

"BA we have to." Hannibal wasn't backing down; they couldn't afford to have kidnapping charges that were all too real brought against them.

"Hannibal those two were left alone." BA's eyes took on a furious gleam as he told the tale, "Their _Dad_ took off without 'em."

"BA, now you don't know that." Hannibal couldn't believe that the kid who followed orders so obediently would be abandoned by his father.

"Look Hannibal, I know what I know," BA's voice was raising, his hands now formed fists at his side. "I heard banging in the next room. Murdock and I went to check it out and…" BA trailed off, not sure how to explain what had happened, knowing that Hannibal wouldn't believe that they had been attacked by a ghost. Hell, he had lived through it and was still having a hard time wrapping his head around it.

"They were left alone," he finished in a defiant voice.

"BA," Hannibal began again, reaching out a hand to place on BA's shoulder.

BA stepped away, avoiding the contact.

"Look, the kid can stitch up wounds. He helped fix up Murdock. What normal eight-year-old can do stuff like that?" BA turned pleading eyes on the Colonel, willing him to understand why they couldn't return Dean and Sammy to that hotel room until they knew for sure their Dad would be there. He would give John Winchester a piece of his mind and a taste of his fist, first.

"That is a little unorthodox, but BA it doesn't mean we can keep them and not return them to their father."

"That's jus' it Hannibal." BA's eyes hardened as he spoke, "Like I said, their Dad's not there. He left 'em. He left a eight-year-old kid in charge of a four-year-old. He left 'em with a shotgun full o' rock salt, a first aid kit that the medics in 'Nam woulda like to have had and keys to an Impala."

Hannibal blinked at BA, trying to make sense of what his Sergeant was telling him. He understood the first aid kit, boys were often prone to injury, but why would their Dad leave a shotgun full of rock salt and the keys to his car to an eight-year-old kid, even one as competent as Dean appeared to be. It didn't make much sense.

"If he left the keys to the car, he probably went down to the local bar. BA, he's probably already reported his sons missing. We have to get them back to the hotel now." Hannibal made to move back to the van, but BA's hand, heavy on his shoulder stopped him.

"Hannibal, if the man went out for a drink, he'd a been back before we left. He'd a kep' 'em safe and they would'n a been with me an' Murdock when Kyle and his goons got the jump on us."

"How come they were with you in the first place?" Hannibal asked sternly.

"Like I said, I heard somethin' and wen' ta check on it."

"Sergeant," Hannibal's voice took on a warning tone.

"Look, I can' explain it. You wouldn' believe me." BA hung his head.

"Sergeant, you have never lied to me before, why wouldn't I believe you?" Hannibal wondered incredulously.

"Look, you jus' wouldn'," BA floundered.

"Maybe I'll just ask Murdock." Hannibal turned in the direction the pilot had taken.

"Won't do no good," BA sighed, "man's a fool. He don't know nothin'."

"Look BA, we can't keep them here with us. It isn't safe with the military police after us now that we're no longer working for Stockwell," Hannibal tried a different tack, hoping BA would see reason. "They were already put in harm's way back at the hotel when Kyle and his men got to you and Murdock. We put them at risk when they are with us and, now hear me out BA."

Hannibal moved a step back in preparation for retaliation. "I think that if you hadn't had the two boys with you, Kyle wouldn't have been able to get the jump on you in the first place. If you and Murdock wouldn't have had to think about the kids, we wouldn't be in this mess right now. They are a liability. We can't keep them."

"I ain't bringin' 'em back." BA stood his ground, fists clenched at his side, unwilling to give into the small voice at the back of his mind that agreed with the Colonel.

A small part of him understood that what Hannibal said was true, that as long as Dean and Sammy were with them, they wouldn't be able to take the same risks they normally did. A part of him understood that as long as Sammy and Dean were in their care, they would be responsible for any harm that came to the boys.

A bigger part of him was willing to take the risks. He had seen firsthand what Dean had been facing for most of his young life and what he was capable of and knew deep in his heart that the boy carried too much responsibility on his young shoulders. He braved everything like a young soldier, aged well beyond his eight years and it tore at BA. He would not knowingly abandon the boys as their father had. He would not bring them back to that nightmare, fearful of what would happen to them were he to return them to the haunted hotel room on their own.

"BA, we have no choice in the matter. We can't keep 'em. They don't belong with us." Hannibal turned and started for the van, ending the conversation.

"You ain't takin' 'em nowhere." BA spun the Colonel around, pushing him to the ground.

"BA! Hannibal!" Face ran up to them, a panicked look on his face.

"What's wrong Lieutenant?" Hannibal stood, dusting himself off as though nothing had happened.

BA glared in his direction.

Planting his hands on his knees, Face attempted to get his breath. "Murdock," he panted, "and the kid," he flailed his arm indicating the direction of the abandoned farmhouse.

"What is it Face?" Hannibal placed a hand on the man's shoulders, bracing him.

Shame etched his features as he looked Hannibal square in the eyes and gulped. "I lost 'em. We were checking the farmhouse out, the place is empty, looks like it's been abandoned for a couple of years. Well, Murdock, you know how he can get sometimes, he and the kid, Sammy, they decided to do some exploration of their own as scouts or something like that. I wasn't paying that much attention to them at the time, sorry BA."

He shot an apologetic look at the man whose eyes had narrowed dangerously. "I was checking out the kitchen to see if there was anything we could use. I just turned my back for a minute, I swear, and now I can't find 'em and I tell you I looked everywhere Hannibal, everywhere; they're nowhere to be found. The place is huge and, Hannibal, they weren't answering my calls."

"Slow down Lieutenant, I'm sure they're alright. Murdock and the kid are probably just playing hide-and-seek. BA and I will help you look for them." Hannibal smiled encouragingly. "It'll give us some time to get to know our surroundings."

"You better hope they're alright." BA cracked his knuckles.

Face gulped, grimacing.

"What happened to Sammy?" Dean had exited the van when he saw Face running toward them without Sammy and Murdock.

Face turned to Dean, noting that his freckles stood out in stark contrast against the paleness of his skin.

"Sorry Dean, he and Murdock kind of got away from me, but I'm sure they are just fine." He smiled in a way that he hoped was reassuring.

Without waiting for anyone to join him, Dean took off at a sprint in the direction of the house, cursing himself for having let Sammy out of his sight. If anything happened to his baby brother, his Dad would never forgive him. Hell, he'd never forgive himself.


	14. Vanished

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

Vanished

"Sammy!" Dean called out as he ran.

There was a stitch in his side as he ran. His baby brother was missing and it was all his fault. If he had kept a better eye on his brother, if he hadn't let these men take him and Sammy in the first place, none of this would have happened. If only he'd been stronger. If only he had been able to handle that ghost in the first place, none of this would have happened; he and Sammy would be back at the hotel waiting for Dad and Uncle Bobby.

"Dean!"

BA ran after the boy, not wanting to lose him as well. A lost Sammy and Murdock was enough to deal with, they didn't need to lose anyone else.

"Murdock!" Hannibal veered off toward the house, leaving Dean and BA to search the area around the barn, and Face to search the field just past the barn.

"Sammy!" Dean sprinted the last few feet to the barn, ignoring the growing stitch in his side. "Come on Sammy, time to come out!"

"Dean!" BA reached for the boy's arm as he moved to enter the barn. "Hold on a minute, let's go in together." Placing his hands on his knees he bent over to catch his breath.

"He could be scared or hurt." Dean panted, trying to catch his breath.

"All the more reason for us to go in together," BA reasoned, standing and placing a hand on Dean's arm.

Dean put a hand to his aching side and winced in pain. His breathing came in hitched gasps for air.

"You okay?"

BA peered closely at Dean. Not liking the sickly pallor of his skin, he placed a hand to the boy's forehead. Dean was slightly feverish; a cold sweat prickled his skin. Prying Dean's hand from his side, BA stooped and partially removed the boy's bloody shirt and took in a sharp breath.

Dean had a thick piece of bathroom tile stuck in his side. Apparently the bullet had gone through the thug's head and had ricocheted off the tile, sending a piece of it into Dean's side. _How the hell had that happened?_ BA wondered. The piece was sticking about a quarter of an inch out of Dean's side.

Not wanting Dean to panic, BA replaced the shirt, covering the injury and stood. Placing both hands on Dean's shoulder he guided him to an overturned crate and gently pushed him down onto it. Dean struggled to his feet, a look of defiance replacing the pained look that had been on his face moments before.

"Sammy needs me." Dean swayed, but stood his ground.

"Dean, let me go find him." BA squatted to look Dean in the eye. "I promise to bring 'im right to ya."

"Sammy needs me," Dean insisted, eyes flashing.

"An' he'll have you," BA promised, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "Jus' let me go look for him. You rest."

"But I'm fine BA," Dean pleaded even as his head spun dizzyingly.

"No ye'r not kid." BA pushed Dean back onto the crate. "You stay right there an' I'll be back with Sammy 'fore you know it."

Smiling reassuringly at Dean, he turned from the boy and squinted in the dusky barn. He couldn't see very far in the dim light that came from the sun glinting in between the slats of the barn. There was no way for BA to see what possible dangers lay ahead. It didn't look like the barn had been cleared out or cleaned up before the owners had left. It looked as though it had been abandoned without a backward glance.

It was eerie and BA couldn't stop the shiver of cold fear that coursed through him as he looked around the barn, catching the silvery glint of a pitchfork stuck in a bale of hay not two feet away. On the wall opposite him, hung what looked like a rusted bear trap next to a frayed rope looped around a bent nail.

As BA's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out what appeared to be four horse stalls along the length of the barn, two on either side of the barn, across from each other. He shuddered to think what would await him should he choose to look inside the stalls given the unkempt state of the barn.

Dean returned to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side, assuring himself that it would go away as soon as he was able to catch his breath. Whenever he ran full out, he got a stitch in his side, it usually didn't hurt this much or for this long, but Dean wasn't worried, it would get better soon.

"Sammy!" He called out once more, moving toward the center of the barn where BA stood, ignoring the pointed look that the man gave him.

He clutched his side as a spasm of pain tore through him. _What the hell?_ Dean staggered forward and leaned heavily on BA.

"Thought I told you to stay put and rest." BA looked down at Dean, shaking his head as he steadied the unsteady boy.

Giving up on trying to get Dean to listen, he said, "You look that way, I'll look this." BA gestured and they took a step forward, the wood floor creaking beneath their feet.

Nodding, Dean looked in the direction that BA had pointed. His eyes went in and out of focus as a fresh wave of dizziness swept over him. Shaking his head to clear it, Dean caught a flash of silver from the corner of his eye as the pitchfork flew past his head and imbedded itself into the rotting wood of the floor inches from where he and BA stood.

A bitter cold sensation stole over them. Dean recognized the all too familiar presence of a ghost and searched the barn for something they could use to fight it. _What was it that Dad had said could be used to get rid of a ghost besides salt? Iron! _

"BA, we need iron," Dean whispered. "We can use it to stop the ghost so we can get out of here."

Trusting Dean's instincts, BA knelt and felt along the wooden floor, searching for nails that he hoped had been made of iron. There had been no sign of Murdock or Sammy in the barn, and so far they hadn't seen the ghost, but that pitchfork had been too close for comfort, there was no way that it had been hurled at them by a living, breathing human.

Dean knelt beside BA, the pain in his side growing as he bent over. Ignoring the pain, he searched for a nail and found one. Pulling at the floorboard, he let out a sigh of relief. The wood was rotting and the nail was easy to pry loose. BA had also found a nail and held it triumphantly in his hand, smiling tightly at Dean.

They continued searching for more nails, moving along the floor of the barn, closer to the center of it, gathering nails as they went. The ghost hadn't sent anything else their way and the cold seemed to recede as they moved further into the barn.

When they reached dead center, a sharp gust of wind blew over them, rocking them off their knees. They lay flattened against the floorboards; Dean grasping his side, eyes twisted shut in pain as he attempted to rise, only to be pressed down by some unseen force.

It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe. He heard the barn doors slam shut and darkness swiftly enshrouded them. The nails he held in his hand were useless as he couldn't so much as lift a finger, let alone his hand.

BA felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He was flattened against the floorboards, unable to move. The hand that held the nails lay fisted uselessly, pinned to his side. This was nothing like the ghost that had terrorized them in the hotel.

Darkness stole over him. As though it was a force in and of itself, it crawled along eating up the light little-by-little until there was nothing left and they were encased in pitch black. BA struggled to find his voice and reassure Dean, but even that seemed to have been stolen from him.

His jaw clenched painfully and he swallowed his mounting fear. He hoped that Sammy and Murdock were nowhere near the barn, knowing how terrified the vulnerable pilot would be and how scared the little boy would be.

Dean's side was burning and he squinted his eyes in pain. Unable to move a single muscle, he fought off the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Darkness had swept over the barn in a matter of seconds and had completely robbed him of vision. He could see nothing and didn't even know whether his eyes were open or closed.

He attempted to open his mouth and ask BA if he was okay, but it was as though his mouth had been glued shut. Even his tongue failed to move at his command. He breathed heavily through his nose.

His sense of sight stripped from him, his senses of hearing and touch were amplified. His own breathing sounded loud and labored. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. He could feel the warmth of BA's body next to his.

He calmed his breathing and heartbeat, establishing a pattern, and strained to listen. He could hear BA breathing soft and evenly. He listened for Sammy or Murdock, hoping that neither was trapped in the barn with them.

"Murdock! Sammy!" Face stood in the middle of the field, hands cupped his mouth.

Turning around, he called out again for the pair, narrowing his eyes to look for them in the gathering darkness of a fast approaching storm. _Great, just what we need. _ Face eyed the dark clouds nervously, rubbing his arms in the cool air.

"Murdock! Sammy!" He called again. Nothing.

He had been scouring the field for the dynamic duo for the past ten minutes and come up empty. They were nowhere in sight. He had even looked upward, knowing that the pilot could very well have decided to climb a tree and that both he and Sammy might be holding in giggles as they watched him circle the barren field for them. They weren't in the trees, they weren't in the field, and it was as though they had simply disappeared into thin air.

Knowing he couldn't report back to Hannibal with that, he headed toward the broken barbed wire fence. Using the fence as his guide, he began a slow trek around the field once more, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of Murdock and Sammy, calling out for them every few yards.

Half-way around the field, a plump raindrop plopped on his head and ran down his cheek. Glancing up at the clouds, he increased his pace to a slow jog. The sky no longer had a comforting patch of blue; it was now a dirty, mottled grey in color. If Murdock and Sammy were outside, they would be heading toward the barn or the house, maybe even toward the van. Murdock would probably feel safest in the van.

_Shit_. Face ran the rest of the way around the field before making his way back toward the barn and the house as more droplets of rain began to fall on and around him. Trying to dodge the raindrops, he sprinted toward the van, hoping that his hunch was right.

Hannibal stood on the rickety porch in front of the crooked doorway of the decaying house and twisted the cigar in his mouth thoughtfully. It didn't look as if anyone had entered the house through the front door. No way, it would still be standing in its hinges. If that door had been opened, it would be hanging off the rusty hinges. There must be another way in.

Narrowing his eyes, Hannibal cast a look around and replayed what Face had told them – that they had been in the kitchen and Murdock and Sammy had been exploring on their own as scouts.

Walking around the porch, Hannibal spotted where Face and the others must've entered the house. There was an open window which they could easily fit through. Grasping the upper part of the window with one hand and the windowsill with the other, Hannibal eased himself into the house and easily retraced Face's footsteps in the dust-covered floor.

The kitchen was a mess. There was a cutting board on the counter with a loaf of moldy bread sitting on it. A dark-handled carving knife was stuck right in the middle of the board. Next to the cutting board was an old-fashioned toaster with two slices of burnt toast sticking out of it. An open jar of marmalade with a butter knife jammed into it lay on its side by the toaster.

A thick, iron-coated pan full of white bacon grease sat upon the cold stovetop. A half-empty bottle of curdled milk sat on a round, hand-carved kitchen table. Four place settings complete with empty glasses, napkins, and silverware had been arranged around it. There was a plate of cold, once crispy bacon in the middle. It looked as though whoever had lived here had been in the middle of breakfast and literally disappeared.

Puzzled, the colonel left the kitchen, looking for a pair of footprints that he could follow to Murdock and Sammy. He could only find one set of footprints, which meant that his pilot and Dean's brother had either not entered the house or had come into the house from a different entry point.

"Murdock!" The Colonel stood in the living room and called, "Sammy!"

He waited, slowly counting to five before leaving the living room and heading into what looked like a library or what could have been a den. Still, no footprints and no sign of either boy in the room. He left the den and headed toward the back of the house.

The house grew darker and Hannibal felt a change in the air that was almost electric. He smelt the copper of approaching rain and hoped that wherever Murdock and Sammy were, they had shelter. He could find no sign of them in the house, but continued his search as wind picked up and blew at the curtains in the open windows, making them dance like ghosts.

Standing at the bottom of a spiral staircase, Hannibal placed one foot tentatively on the bottom step and grasped the railing with one hand. A sudden chill sent a shiver down his spine. Brushing it off as nerves, he put his foot on the first step and started the upward climb. The steps creaked beneath his weight and sagged dangerously.

"Murdock." Sammy looked up at the pilot, his brown eyes glittering with unshed tears, bottom lip quivering.

"Whatsa matter scout?" The pilot smiled down at the boy, his bright teeth practically glowing in the dark.

"I'm scared," Sammy whispered.

"I know." Murdock's smile wavered slightly, but he quickly put it back in place, as he spoke to the four-year-old, "There's nothin' here to be afraid of though, scout. It's just a rainstorm. A harmless little bit of rain, never hurt nobody."

"I want Dean." A fat tear rolled down Sammy's face.

This was the first time that he and his brother had been separated for so long. He was used to having Dean with him all the time, or at least within hailing distance. His brother never ever left him on his own, not even when their Daddy was around.

"I know you do." Murdock hugged the boy close to him and he ruffled his dark hair.

He wanted the Colonel, Face, and BA with them, as well as Dean. It was dark and in spite of his reassuring words to Sammy, he was afraid too. The wind howled around them and they were engulfed in darkness. Branches popped and cracked as the trees bent and swayed with the echoes of the wind.

"We gonna be okay though, you know that scout?"

Sammy nodded. His head resting on Murdock's chest, he closed his eyes and wished that Dean would come and find him soon, he was tired and scared and hungry. He didn't want to play scout any more. He wanted his big brother.


	15. The Hosptiable Martins

For disclaimer, see prologue.

A/N: Violence and death mentioned.

* * *

The Hospitable Martins

"Murdock." Sammy wiggled free from Murdock's embrace to look at the pilot's face.

"What is it scout?" Murdock returned Sammy's serious gaze, frowning as though deep in thought.

"Do you think Dean's okay?" He tilted his head to the side, a frown of concern dimpling his cheeks.

"Oh, I don't only think he's okay, scout, I know he's okay," Murdock answered, nodding vigorously.

"How do you know?" Sammy's forehead scrunched in wonder at the pilot's confidence.

"Well because." Murdock tapped a finger to his chin as he thought. "Well, he's Dean ain't he?"

A smile broke out on Sammy's face and he nodded, leaning once more against Murdock's chest, wrapping his arms around him.

"Dean's always okay," Sammy's words came out muffled.

"That he is." Murdock rested his chin on Sammy's head, believing the words he spoke about Dean to be true.

From what he had seen, the older boy was his younger brother's very own superhero and protector. Everything he did was done for this kid that he now held in his arms. Dean would never willingly let his little brother down and he would always, in his kid brother's eyes, be okay, because that's what big brothers were supposed to be.

Murdock thought of BA in the same way that Sammy thought of his big brother Dean, the big man would always be okay and he would always be there to protect him when the going got , except for when it came to flying. BA would be as far away as he could possibly get when it came to flying.

Was Dean was afraid of flying too? Murdock wondered. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything, but then again, neither did BA and he practically became comatose at the mere mention of anything being airborne. Uh-oh his mind was wandering aimlessly again, better get back on track, _gotta be there for the kid 'cause his big brother isn't. Wait a minute, who's gonna be here for me?_

"Murdock?" Sammy broke into the pilot's thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You okay?"

Murdock nodded emphatically in response, glad that Sammy couldn't see the betrayal on his face.

"'Course I'm okay," he whispered, leaning back, listening to the pounding of the rain and the wind whipping through the trees. "You okay?"

Sammy nodded eagerly.

"Good, good." Murdock patted the boy's back.

"Murdock?"

"Yes?"

"Where did everyone go?"

"I think they went lookin' for us." Murdock sighed.

He knew that he shouldn't have gone off exploring with Sammy, but the boy had started to get antsy and wanted to go back to the van. Murdock knew that the Colonel had something important to talk about with Dean and didn't want to interrupt them, so he quickly thought of a game for them to play and told Face they were going to go explore the trees next to the barn.

Well, they got a little carried away and before he knew it, they had gone a bit further from the house than he had intended. He easily traced their way through the trees back to the van, but when they returned, no one was there.

It had grown dark and droplets of rain had begun to fall by the time they reached the van. He thought of going back to the house to find the others, but Sammy was shivering and the wind was picking up, so he got them into the van for shelter.

Murdock pretended it was all part of their exploration, kind of like camping. He would never forgive himself, though, if something terrible happened to any of his friends, or Dean, because of this. He should have followed the Lieutenant into the house rather than going off on his own.

Face raced through the field, making a zigzag path through the tall, unkempt grass. He ran past the field, eyes peeled for members of his team. The rain, which had started out slow and steady, increased its pace and Face sped up, eyes focused solely on his destination – the black van sitting beneath an old, tall oak tree.

Heedless of his surroundings, Face ran past the house, hoping that the Colonel had realized that Sammy and Murdock weren't there. He was sure that the two were back at the van. He knew how Murdock thought, crazy as he was at times, and wanted to kick himself for sending the others on a wild goose chase.

His friend would return to the safety of the van, their home on wheels, when he saw the storm approaching. Heck, he would've been aware of the approach of the storm well before the rest of them, sensitive as the pilot was to changes in the atmosphere.

As he drew near the barn, he became aware of an odd, high-pitched whine that seemed to emanate from within the hollowed out carcass. _Isn't that where BA and the miniature Hannibal had gone to look for Murdock and Sammy? _

Slowing down to a trot, Face approached the building, noting that the door appeared to be jammed shut. It looked as though someone had barred the lopsided barn door, securing it from the outside with what appeared to be a long, angular piece of plywood. _What the hell?_

Sensing trouble that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, Face dropped to a crouch in the tall grass and scouted the area surrounding him. Looking for whoever had latched the barn door from the outside, he wondered if his friend and the kid were confined within its decrepit walls.

He wiped the rain from his eyes. Muscles taut, ready for action, he slowly crept toward the barn. Alert for danger, he strained his ears to listen for approaching footsteps and cries for help, attempting to hear beyond the high pitched whine which continued to issue from the barn and the steady pounding of the rain that beat like a drum on the hard dirt which drowned out all other sounds.

Face didn't hear the quiet, phantom footsteps that approached him from behind. He never saw the dark shadow that slid over him when he reached the barn and placed a tentative hand on the door before drawing to his full height.

He never felt the two-by-four that slammed into the back of his skull, sending him into a world of darkness, splitting open the back of his head. He slumped to the ground, blood seeping from the gash in his skull.

The ghostly figure of a man stood over Face, grinning toothlessly as the rain continued its vicious assault on the earth, soaking through the clothing of the unconscious lieutenant, mingling with the blood that gathered beneath his head, turning it a sickening brackish color.

Halfway up the rickety staircase, Hannibal realized that he had a problem. Probably should've realized it earlier, but he knew how reckless Murdock could be at times and doubted that the stairs would've been a problem for either his Captain or little Sammy to ascend. They weighed much less than he did.

He stood, one foot precariously reaching to establish a perch on the step above, his other having busted through the rotting wood of the step below. He was trapped up to his knee in the lower step; his free foot searched the step above for solid wood to regain his footing on. Having found what felt like a good foothold, Hannibal braced his hands on the railing and pulled up, careful not to put too much weight on the next step and mindful of the wood splinters that could scrape his leg if he didn't maneuver his trapped leg just right.

A loud crack echoed through the empty house, and Hannibal watched in horror as the railing he was using tore loose from its mooring and crashed to the floor below. Bereft of his handhold, Hannibal's arms pin wheeled in an effort to establish balance.

He lunged forward, placing his hands on the step above to finish the job of pulling his other leg out of the fractured step. A sharp pain invaded his senses as a sharp wooden splinter tore into his shin, but Hannibal focused on pulling himself out of the step. Pushing up with his hands, and pulling his injured leg free in one swift movement, he lunged forward and sprawled out on the steps above him.

He resumed his ascent of the unstable staircase, crawling the rest of the way to the top. He wasn't sure if he could trust the steps below him to descend the staircase. Resting on the landing at the top of the stairs, Hannibal pulled up his jeans to assess his injury. _Not too bad, but its gonna leave a nasty scar._

He drew in a sharp breath as he pulled the remnants of a large wooden splinter out of his leg. He used the sleeve of his shirt to dab at the beading blood.

BA felt as though he had been transported into another world or, at the very least, one of Murdock's crazy fantasies. He couldn't even feel his body, let alone Dean lying next to him. _What's goin' on man? You here crazy man? God I hope not._

_What would Hannibal do in this situation? _He wondered. _Probably smile and get that crazy look in his eyes he always gets when he's 'on the jazz'. _He'd probably goad whatever the hell was doing this into doing something far worse._ Sometimes I think the Colonel's got a death wish or he's gotta have somethin' excitin' goin' on all the time Shit, the only thing I'm really good at is makin' things and fixin' 'em, and, well, poundin' in faces. Not real helpful right now._

_It's my fault Dean and Sammy are in this mess. I should'a been more alert, should never a let that fool pilot out a my sight. Should never a let Kyle ambush us like he did. Colonel left me in charge and what did I do? I nearly got my bes' friend and two innocent kids killed. _

Dean could not tell if his eyes were open or closed anymore. The cold bit into his skin and took away every vestige of heat save for the burning that came from his side which felt as though it were on fire. He could no longer feel BA next to him. _Sammy, I hope that you are okay little brother._

_What would Dad do in this situation? Shit, dad wouldn't have gotten himself into a situation like this in the first place. He'd have been ready before he even walked into the barn. Damn, why did I leave the shotgun behind? Why did I let Sammy out of my sight in the first place?_

_What is he always telling me? Oh yeah, "Watch out for your little brother, Dean." Yeah, sure Dad, I'll take real good care of Sammy. Damn near got him killed. If whatever the hell is doing this to us doesn't kill me, Dad sure will. _

_I should never have let BA and Murdock talk me into letting them stay. Not that the big man gave me much of a choice, but I should've been more careful in the first place, rechecked the salt line. If I had just done my job right, Sammy would be back at the hotel safe and sound and I wouldn't by lying face down in some shithole reject of a barn unable to feel a damn thing. _

A bolt of lightning boomed, leaving a tangy, coppery taste lingering in the air, raising the hairs on Murdock's arms and neck. If he and Sammy hadn't been sitting on the carpeted floor of the van, they would've been fried.

Another boom broke through the rain, as lightning lit up the interior of the van. Sammy trembled, snuggling closer to the now cagey pilot, the first round of lightning had struck the van and the second somewhere nearby. _That was way too close for comfort._ Murdock hugged Sammy tighter to himself, as if that could assure their safety.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the van. Murdock's head shot up and his gaze locked on pale blue eyes set in a thin, pale face. The spectral eyes bore into him through the front windshield as though they were sizing him up.

Gulping, Murdock made sure that Sammy's eyes remained averted by tucking the little boy's head into his chest. Keeping his own frightened eyes glued to those of the haunted, emaciated youth standing in front of the van as rain slipped through its translucent figure, Murdock scooted over to check that the doors of the van were locked, not sure if that would keep the apparition out or not.

Reaching up a shaky hand to lock the sliding door of the van, his heart jumped up into his throat as the ghost flickered and then disappeared. He frantically placed Sammy on the bench seat in the back of the van and rushed forward to lock the driver side and passenger side doors of the steel enforced van before returning to the back of the van to make sure that the hatch was locked as well.

"What's wrong Murdock?" Sammy raised confused eyes to the pilot as the man scooped him up into his lap once more.

"Nothing muchacho."

Murdock put on a brave smile, hoping that the hammering in his chest wouldn't give his fear away. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he gave into the fear which threatened to devour him and send him into a state of panic.

He was only a few frenzied breaths away from dissolving into the hysteria which desired to claim him and lure him into one of his safe, fantasy worlds where everything was bright and sane, even if he, himself wasn't. Where everything was right as rain and he was safe and sound, surrounded by his friends which had claimed the place of family in his heart, and, often fractured mind.

"Don't cry." Sammy patted Murdock's back as he comforted the pilot, "It'll be all right. Dean will make it all better." He placed his pudgy hands on either side of the pilot's face and looked into his eyes. "You'll be okay," he promised the man.

A half-sob of laughter escaped Murdock's lips as he brushed at the unshed tears he hadn't realized were there.

"You know what scout? I think you're right." He was really beginning to believe in the infallibility of Sammy's big brother, crazy as that seemed.

The ghostly figure lit up the interior of the van, flickering brightly before once again fading into nothingness. Murdock closed his eyes, burrowing his head into Sammy's ebony locks, keeping the boy's face toward him.

Maybe if he pretended that the ghost did not exist, it would go away. The van rocked, gently as if with the wind, but the twisted face of the ghost before it had disappeared replayed itself in Murdock's mind, giving him no doubts as to the cause of the rocking. _Dean, I hope you get here soon. Sammy and I need you. BA, big man, I could really use your help here too._

The ghost standing over Face chuckled as it knelt next to the man's unconscious form. _Such a handsome face, _it traced the Lieutenant's features with an unearthly finger, eliciting a violent shiver from the unconscious man.

_My little sister would've taken to you in a heartbeat; no doubt you're a charming bastard. Too bad. You and your friends should never have trespassed on our property. _Wind whipped around the dark specter, lighting struck, and the wood of the barn shuddered, threatening to topple under the force of the wind.

_You will have to pay for your trespass with your life. _

XXX_  
_

The family that had lived on this now abandoned homestead forty years ago had been happy and loving. If anyone had a need or a problem, they would seek out the help of the Martins who were willing to help out anyone, no matter what. They gave freely of their produce and often took in strangers, believing what the Bible said about those who entertained strangers – that they could be entertaining angels unawares.

And so, it was one stormy night forty years ago, almost to the very day, that a stranger knocked on the door of the Martins, seeking shelter from the storm. Little Maria, barely five, had opened the door fearlessly, never having learned to be wary of strangers.

Though the man who leered down at her, had a cracked leather jacket which reeked of something she couldn't identify, amd made her uneasy, she offered him one of her bright smiles and welcomed him into their home. He swept his hat off his head and offered a smile of his own as he entered the home. As Maria began to close the door, two other men abruptly pushed their way in behind their companion.

Rivulets of water ran down the leather coats of the men and Maria instinctively drew back when she noticed that some of it was red, like blood. She called out to her mother and brother, Daniel, who came into the foyer to greet their guests. The smile on Mrs. Martin's face froze when she saw the pistols in the men's hands pointed at them. Daniel turned away to fetch his father and older brother, John, ignoring the warning the men had issued for the family to go to into the living room and remain quiet while they took care of an injury.

One of the men grabbed him and pulled him outside. Daniel struggled, but the man's grip was much too strong for his nine- year- old body and he was dragged out into the rain. Five minutes later, a lone gunshot was heard and the man returned alone, a smug smile on his lips.

Mrs. Martin worked feverishly in the kitchen, boiling water and getting supplies to help care for the wounded man. She had tried in vain to assure the men that their pistols were unnecessary, that she and her family would be willing to help them without the threat. She had also failed to convince them that her daughter's help would be needed in the kitchen.

They kept her with them in the living room. An occasional whimper reached her ears and she sobbed as she expertly worked in her kitchen and prayed. Keeping her mind on the task at hand, not daring to think about what had happened to Daniel or what was happening to her daughter in the living room, she continued to work even as she heard the door open yet again.

The man who had taken Daniel out and not returned with her son, left the house, after learning that there were two other family members unaccounted for. Again, a gunshot reached the ears of the women in the house. Mrs. Martin attended to the wounded man, giving her daughter sideways glances, hoping that Maria would try to run. The little girl got up and said that she was going upstairs to get some more towels, the other man followed her while keeping an eye on Mrs. Martin.

Before Maria made it back down the stairs with the towels, another gunshot rang out and the little girl lost her footing. She fell down the stairs, breaking her neck along the way. Mrs. Martin let out a strangled sob before flinging the boiling water at the injured man. She rushed the man who had watched, grinning as her daughter fell to her death.

Mrs. Martin fought him for the gun he brandished at her. It went off as both of them grappled with it. She grinned in fascinated horror as the man struggled to remain standing, blood seeping out of his stomach.

Leaving him to bleed out, she picked up her daughter, cradling her in her arms and carried her up the stairs. She placed her unmoving form on the bed and arranged her daughter's dress and hair lovingly. She then walked down the stairs, stepping over the man who still grasped his stomach, a grimace of pain twisting his face. Pistol in hand, she shot the ailing man on the couch before exiting her home.

The wind and rain tore at her hair, whipping it about her pale face. She searched for Daniel, but couldn't find him. She headed toward the barn where she knew her husband and eldest son, John, had been working.

John's still, lifeless body lay awkwardly at the entrance of the barn. She knelt, straightening her son's body. Kissing his forehead, she entered the barn. Her husband lay, writhing in the middle of the barn. The man who had shot him stood over him, grinning vilely, and taunting the injured man.

"You know what me and my men are going to do to your wife and daughter."

Her husband's hushed answer was lost to her as she snuck up on the man.

Twin gunshots echoed through the barn, tearing at Mrs. Martin's heart. She dropped to her knees as the man who had killed her sons and husband fell to his own death in a gathering pool of blood. Weeping, she crawled to her husband's side before raising her gun hand and ending her own life.

XXX

Rain streaked down the Lieutenant's ashen face as pain broke through his subconscious, commanding his benumbed brain to awaken and get his body moving. Eyes blinking, stung by the rain, he reached an unsteady hand up to sweep away the rain. Bright, blue eyes stared into his own, startling him. In his muddled state of mind the eyes appeared to be disembodied, suspended above him in thin air.

He reached a shaky hand to the back of his head and winced as it made contact with the deep gash. Bringing it up to his face, his vision swam as dizziness overtook him. Blood covered his fingers and the floating eyes continued to glare at him.

"Help," he managed to croak weakly, twisting onto his side in an attempt to raise himself.

He didn't understand why the person who stood over him was not helping him. He shook his head to clear it, and instantly regretted the movement as a sudden wave of nausea gripped his stomach and he weakly heaved bile onto the muddied ground beneath him. Choking for air, he managed to rise up to a half-sitting position.

A punch to his kidney caused Face to double over in pain. White spots danced before his eyes as he fought to catch his breath. Something wrapped around his neck, pulling him from his half-sitting position.

He clawed at the unseen arm that was choking him, desperately trying to free himself from the death grip, but what he fought against was invisible. His vision swam and faded at the edges. Unable to bring air into his lungs, he stopped breathing and his body fell limply to the muddy ground.

The sound of crying, soft and heart wrenching caused the Colonel to pause his makeshift first aid. Sighing in relief he called out, "Sammy? Is that you?"

The crying stopped and Hannibal raised himself to his feet.

"Sammy? Where are you? We've all been looking for you."

A small whimper led the colonel further down the hallway.

"Dean's real worried about you," Hannibal tried to coax a response from the four-year-old, but was again met with silence.

"Murdock?" He called, hoping that his pilot would answer.

"C'mon Murdock, stop playing around," he commanded.

A giggle beckoned him forward to a room.

Pausing outside the room, he knocked on the partially closed door. "Anyone in here?" He called.

He tried to stifle the anger that had flared up when his pilot had not answered him. He would really have to have a talk with the man; he couldn't take off like that with a kid and not tell any of them where he was going.

Pushing on the door and entering, he shivered as a gust of cold air struck him. What he saw sitting on the canopy bed was neither a giggling Sammy nor a chagrined pilot, but a little girl with pigtails. She was dressed in pink gingham and shyly peeking at him from behind fanned fingers. She giggled again and Hannibal felt as though he had been tickled, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he smiled crookedly at the little girl.

"Who're you sweetie?" He knelt down beside her, asking "Have you seen my friends? A little boy about this big." He held his arm about three and a half feet above the floor. "And a much taller man?"

She smiled coyly at the Colonel as she shook her head no and once again hid behind her fingers. Frustrated, the colonel stood.

"Honey where are your parents?"

The girl's countenance darkened and she placed her hands calmly on her lap.

"They're dead. Bad men came and killed them. They killed me too." She looked at the Colonel with cold, hollow eyes.

Swallowing a lump of irrational fear, Hannibal forced a smile on his face. "But sweetheart, you aren't dead."

Standing, she walked toward the Colonel and pressed a chilled hand against his wound. A blinding pain sent him crashing to his knees and he cried out in spite of his resolve not to. She smiled sweetly; grasping his face in her hands she placed a kiss on his cheek. Hannibal felt as though his life were being sapped from him. He collapsed onto his side on the floor. The little girl's hand still on his cheek, he lost consciousness.

"Why have you come to my farm?"An angry voice reverberated through the air, sending tingles of tiny electric shocks throughout BA's body.

He tried to answer, but couldn't find his voice. Panting, he struggled to raise his head.

"What are you planning to do to me and my family?"

_Nothing, nothing, _BA's tongue felt as though it had grown twice its size and it was so dry he feared that it would fall out of his mouth.

"You should have left us alone. We would have helped you,"the voice continued.

BA felt a burst of air brush his side.

"We din't do nothin' to you," he managed to ground out through teeth clenched tightly together. His own voice sounded strained and foreign in his ears, he'd been without it for what had felt like forever.

"You slaughtered us, mercilessly," the angry voice sneered against his ear.

"Wasn't us," BA managed to say, though his throat felt as though he had swallowed a mouthful of rocks.

Silence answered him and he could feel his body again. Able to move his head, he turned toward where Dean should be and was relieved to see that the boy was still next to him and appeared to be breathing, though a bit labored.

"Let us go and we'll help you," BA pleaded.

Laughter, laced with irony, was the only response he got.

"Look, Dean's only a kid," BA tried again, "whatever happened to you, I'm sure you don't want to hurt a kid."

Again, silence reigned.

"Herbert,"a soft, tender voice beckoned, _"he is just a child. We should let him go."_

"Our children weren't spared, why should we spare this child?"A harsh voice thundered.

"Herbert, look at him."

Dean felt a tender, cool hand resting against his cheek.

"Doesn't he remind you of our Daniel?"

"Molly," the voice cracked, "our Daniel is dead."

"I know," she sighed; the hand left his cheek. "Herbert, what harm would it do to let this child live? What harm would it do for us to show mercy?"

"We weren't shown mercy."

Dean felt a rough hand lift his chin and suddenly, the darkness receded and he could see. Two piercingly blue eyes gazed into his and seemed to be searching for something before his chin was let go, and it bounced onto the hardwood floor.

"Get up boy," the voice barked and Dean felt as though he were being helped up to his feet. Pain tore through his side and he gritted his teeth to keep from gasping.

"What about my friend?" He gestured toward the prostrate form of BA.

"Just you son," the apparition answered.

"Then, I'm afraid I won't be leaving," Dean took a fighting stance, the iron nails gripped firmly in his fists.

Another cold draft of air filled the room and Dean's eyes were drawn away from the ghostly images of a farmer and his wife to another figure. This one held a pistol, and it was aimed at the pair of ghosts.

"I'm afraid no one will be leaving." The pistol swung dangerously in Dean's direction.


	16. Tea and TreeTop Parties

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

Tea and Tree-Top Parties

Dean's eyes didn't waver from the unearthly pistol which hovered mere inches from his face. The nails he grasped dug into the palms of his hands, drawing blood. If only he could be sure that his plan would work, then both he and BA would be able to get away.

He tore his eyes away from the ghost for a second to check on the big man who lay prostrate on the wooden floor of the barn. BA gave him a tight smile and rose up on his elbows, showing Dean the nails that were still clutched in his hand.

Nodding almost imperceptibly, Dean returned his gaze to the gun-wielding monster. Adjusting his stance so that his feet were shoulder width apart, he stood on the balls of his feet, ready to flee when the time was right. He still didn't know if the nails would cause the spirit to dissipate or not, but perhaps they would make for a good diversion anyway.

BA's slight movement hadn't gone unnoticed and the otherworldly gun was suddenly pointed in his direction. He looked toward Dean and nodded, ignoring the barrel of the gun crowding his vision. He didn't know if a bullet from a ghostly weapon could harm him or not, and he really hoped that he would not have to find out.

Dean, taking advantage of the ghost's wavering, drew out a single rusty nail. Taking careful aim, he flung the primitive weapon at the ghost which had BA pinned down. The nail, sure of its mark, caused the murderous entity to flicker, but not disappear completely.

In that same instant, BA felt and heard a bullet whiz past his ear. He jumped to his feet as the sharp bark of the ethereal pistol echoed once again in the close confines of the decaying barn, the tingling of his limbs serving as a reminder of just how long he and Dean had been held captive by the maniacal spirit as he struggled to remain standing.

Faltering on his feet, BA's vision was drawn to another corner of the barn where two other ghosts hovered. Grunting, he turned toward them. Their cadaverous eyes held a look of intense hatred which bore into BA. His flesh prickled as goose bumps shivered their way down his sweat-soaked spine.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he steeled himself, readying for the confrontation he knew would be coming. Sending a backward glance in Dean's direction, he noted that the boy, though he stood tall, was struggling to stay upright.

The injury to his side was taking its toll, yet his eyes remained alert and focused on the threat before him. Clenching his fists painfully around the nails which would serve as weapons, BA turned back to the pair of ghosts, trusting that Dean would take care of the single ghost on his own.

"Murdock," Sammy whispered.

"What's on your mind scout?" Murdock attempted to sound nonchalant, but his voice cracked at the end.

"It's a really big storm," he burrowed closer to the Captain, his chin digging into Murdock's chest as he spoke.

"It sure is," Murdock agreed.

"Do you think Dean is okay?" Sammy wrenched around to look Murdock in the eye, piercing the man with a searching look.

"He's with BA, Face, and the Colonel, course he's okay," Murdock replied with a half grin.

"Do you think my Dad and Uncle Bobby are okay?" Sammy played with the lapel of the Captain's jacket.

"I'm sure they're fine," he assured the young boy. He had no idea where the other two men were, but knew they had to be faring better than they currently were.

"I wish Dad wasn't gone so much." Sammy pursed his lips thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. "But Dean says that he's doing the best he can for us. I just miss him 's all."

_Just how the hell am I supposed to deal with this? _Mudock's own childhood was a distant memory.

He wasn't sure how to comfort Sammy, how to assure him that his father and brother would be alright, especially since he did not know whether they were or not. Was he supposed to lie to the kid? How was he supposed to answer the kid's unasked question: Why isn't my Dad here for me?

The kid was looking up at him with trust in his big brown puppy dog eyes and he had no answers for him. If the Colonel was there he'd have an answer and Face, well, he'd probably give the kid one of his patented smiles and smooth-talk him into a smile. BA would be able to comfort the kid; he was good with kids even if he was often short-tempered with the pilot.

"I know that you miss your Dad," Murdock began, thoughtfully, as a strong gust of wind shook the van and Sammy shivered, digging in closer to Murdock's chest.

"I'm scared," the young boy whimpered.

"Hush." Murdock rocked the boy. "It's okay, everything's gonna be alright."

Lightning illuminated the interior of the van, and, once again, Murdock caught a glimpse of the scowling visage of a very angry young man which drew a ghostly finger across its throat in a warning. Grinning, the spirit vanished once again and the wind howled through the trees as rain pummeled the van mercilessly. _Hurry up BA, don't know if I can hold up much longer._

BA cast another furtive look in Dean's direction, assuring himself that the boy was still standing. The kid was almost as pale as the ghosts which held them captive, but he stood strong, a look of determination on his pain-pinched face.

Dean teetered on his feet. BA noticed that the much too pale young man was sweating and shaking in spite of the menacing glower on his face. Here the kid was about to pass out, and he was still fighting mad. BA shook his head. Outnumbered, and out of his element, BA sent up a silent prayer for help, clutching the nails until they pierced his palms.

Gritting his teeth, he took a step toward the ghostly couple as another shot rang out, ripping through the air, whistling past his cheek. _Damn that was close!_ _Any closer and I'd have a permanent reminder of this homicidal maniac stitched in my side._ Shaking his head to clear it, he advanced toward his own specters once again. Their dead eyes gleamed with fiery flames as they swept toward him.

As they drew nearer, BA prepared himself to attack, hoping Dean was still okay. Before he could act, they flickered out of sight, leaving him staring at a broken beam. Fear clawed its way down his back like an icy talon. _Where did they go? _He turned toward Dean and his heart stopped.

"Would you care for some tea?" Hannibal awoke with a start.

He was in a little girl's room, lying atop a pink canopied bed, a dirty handkerchief had been knotted haphazardly around his injury. Lacey curtains, yellowed with age, whipped in the wind of a storm which raged outside.

A pretty little girl dressed in a moth-eaten, pink gingham dress, sat at a small round table surrounded by an assortment of broken dolls and tattered teddy bears. An antiquated set of chipped china, filled with a variety of colorful blocks representing food, adorned the old, rickety table.

_What the hell is going on?_ The last thing Hannibal remembered was meeting the little girl and being afraid, but why would he be afraid of a little girl? Especially one as cute as the one who was currently conducting a 'tea party'?

The little girl tilted her head to the side as she 'poured' some 'tea' from an ancient teapot for the teddy bear sitting directly across from her. Her brown pig-tails bounced with the enthusiasm of her movement.

"It is a lovely day, I agree Mr. Bear," dimples lit her smile as she spoke.

The storm which ravaged just outside the cozy bedroom Hannibal found himself temporarily retained in, belied her cheerful words.

"I'm not sure Mr. Bear." She narrowed her blue eyes in contemplation. "Maybe when he wakes up we will invite him to the tea party."

She placed a small brown block on the bear's plate. "I agree. He looks like he might be a lot of fun to play with. Maybe even more fun than Daniel was when he was alive. Here, have a scone. I baked them just this morning."

Gulping, Hannibal ran a tired hand over his eyes trying to clear his vision as the little girl seemed to flicker in and out of his sight, like the picture on an old dying TV. Surely he had heard and seen wrong, after all, the little girl was playing make-believe and there was a thunderstorm outside. Lightning must've caused his vision to waver. The alternative was too much for him to even begin to contemplate.

"Oh goody, you're awake," the little girl turned to face him as she spoke.

Her cold, blue eyes stunned him with their intensity. She beamed at him and he couldn't help but smile in return. She looked like a cherub with those dimples.

Ghostly alabaster hands were wrapped tightly around Dean's throat. The boy looked like death warmed over; the nails had spilled from his hands and littered the floor around where he currently lay prostrate beneath a spirit which was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

A cry of rage tore through the silence as BA launched himself toward where Dean lay struggling for breath. His lip curled in an angry sneer as he did the first thing that came to mind and sent a punch sailing right through the ghost. Purpling bruises colored Dean's throat as his blue lips gasped for air.

Undaunted, BA hurled another fist at the unrelenting ghost, willing Dean to keep breathing. The pair of ghosts which had disappeared mere moments ago reappeared without warning, forcing BA backwards. He fought to regain his spot next to Dean whose green eyes were slipping closed.

"Don't you dare close your eyes!" BA commanded.

Dean's eyes fluttered open as the pair of ghosts grasped the one cutting off his oxygen supply. Astonished, BA watched as they pulled the monster off of Dean before remembering the nails that dug into the palm of his hand. BA threw a handful of nails at the merciless entity and watched in awe as it shattered into a thousand pinprick points of quickly diminishing mist before completely disappearing from view.

Gathering up the nails which Dean had dropped, BA prepared to toss them at the two remaining ghosts when he felt a cold, restraining hand on his arm.

"Hurry,"the one whom BA recalled as 'Molly' urged him, "he will be back soon. Herbert and I will try to hold him back for you. Take care of the boy."

She turned tear-filled eyes on Dean and traced his face with her finger before looking up at BA, pleading, "Please get him to safety. He is so like our Daniel was; strong and brave."

Knowing that the reprieve would be short, BA gathered Dean into his arms and rushed for the barn door. The structure began to crash down around them as he stumbled out of the crumbling barn. Wanting to get Dean somewhere dry as quickly as possible, and reunite with the others, BA turned in the direction of the house.

Eyes straight ahead, focused on the house, BA took a step forward and his stomach plummeted. Directly in front of him there was yet another ghost. This one was grinning like a Cheshire cat, beaming from ear to ear as it approached them.

Nails dug into the palm of his hand as he readied them to toss at the specter. Growling, BA took a careful step forward and felt something brush against his foot. Looking down warily, he took in the motionless form of Face and scowled as he raised his eyes to the ghost. Infuriated, he cast the nails at it and grinned when it dissipated.

Putting Dean over one of his shoulders, he freed up an arm and reached down to pick up his injured friend, noting that he didn't appear to be breathing. Pushing away the panic that threatened to overtake him, BA placed his free arm around the man's waist, arranging Face's limp arm around his shoulder.

Rain coursed down his head, mingled with the salty sweat that poured from his body as his muscles bulged from the deadweight of his two charges. His lungs ached with each agonizing breath he took. Pure adrenaline drove him forward to the waiting house. Fear for the young boy he had come to love in such a short time and the man he'd grudgingly grown to love and respect as a friend over the years, pushed his aching limbs forward.

Both of their lives rested in his hands and wasn't sure that he was up to the task. What if he failed? How would he explain the loss of his big brother to Sammy? How would he be able to face Hannibal or Murdock, or himself ever again if the Lieutenant died? Failure simply was not an option.

"Would you care to join Mr. Bear, Teddy, Jessica, and I for tea?" The little girl asked gesturing to each participant in turn.

Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head to clear it. Maybe this was all a part of some demented dream he was having. He would just have to bide his time and wait for the dream to end.

"I would love to." Hannibal flashed her a dazzling smile of his own. "But I am worried about a couple of my friends. We got separated and I am trying to find them. Maybe you can help me."

The little girl pouted, her bottom lip trembling as she stuck it out, tears clung to the edge of her icy blue eyes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood and faced the Colonel, pigtails whipping around her head as she tapped her foot impatiently.

"One of them is a little boy about your age. He was with a tall, slim brown-haired man," Hannibal began, taking her silence as a sign to continue with his descriptions, "another is a boy about eight or nine years old, I think. He was with a big, muscular man," Hannibal pantomimed the size of BA's muscles and the little girl's eyes widened. "Have you seen them?"

She shook her head, 'no'.

"Come play with me," she whined, pulling on Hannibal's arm, causing him to stumble from the bed. "Here, sit next to Teddy."

She pushed him into a spot around the crowded table next to a teddy bear with a head which was precariously hanging onto its body at an odd angle. Stuffing escaped the hole in its neck. The bright, button eyes gave it an eerily 'happy' look in spite of its damaged condition.

"He's the friendliest, and he has wanted to talk with you ever since you came into my room."

Seeing that he wasn't going to get away unless he played along, Hannibal sat next to the bedraggled bear, giving it a half-smile as he grimaced in pain.

The girl passed him a cracked plate of china with a block on it and a nicked teacup. He wondered briefly if the block was one of the 'scones' she had baked earlier in the day.

"Would you care for some tea Sir?" She held the teapot daintily in one hand, arching an eyebrow at the Colonel.

"Yes that would be nice." Hannibal dutifully held his teacup up and offered a tentative smile in hopes of placating the little girl so he could resume the search for his friends. Something nagging him at the back of his mind told him that, though she looked pretty and innocent, he should be wary of her.

"Go ahead, have a bite of that scone, I made it fresh this morning."

She graced him with another smile and waited patiently for him to take a 'bite' of the 'scone' which he did under her watchful eye, pretending to sip from the teacup for good measure.

An unexpected crash coming from downstairs caused the girl to falter as she was in the midst of 'pouring' Hannibal another draught of tea. Her teapot clattered to the table and she rushed from the room, a look of abject terror on her face.

Hannibal cautiously rose to his feet, wincing at the pain as his injury was accidentally jarred. Teddy seemed to look on in curious delight as Hannibal painstakingly made his way out of the bedroom and down the darkened hallway.

"Murdock?"

"Yeah scout?" Murdock's chin rested on Sammy's head.

"What's that noise?" Sammy was scared. It was dark outside, Dean was missing, and the van was shaking with the force of the wind which was yowling like mad. It reminded Sammy of when Uncle Bobby's dog, Rumsfeld, got his foot caught in the screen door once.

It was one of the scariest noises he had ever heard and he cried, thinking that Rumsfeld was going to die, but Uncle Bobby had rescued the dog and scolded him for not being 'quick-witted', whatever that meant, enough to get out of the way of the door in the first place. Sammy had dried his eyes on the fur of the rescued dog.

"Just the wind in the trees." Murdock rested a comforting hand on Sammy's back. "If you listen carefully." Murdock tilted his head and smiled when Sammy copied his movements. "You can hear the trees talking to each other. Are you listening?" Sammy nodded eagerly.

"Sounds like they're angry," he mumbled.

"Hmmm…" Murdock sighed as though in deep contemplation of the matter. "I don't know about that. Sounds to me like that tree there," he tilted his head in the direction of a particularly loud creaking noise, "and that tree over there," he moved in the direction of a resounding popping noise, "are just talking about how much fun they had over the weekend."

"Oh, like that one asked, 'How was your weekend?' and the other answered, 'Okay, I guess'?" Sammy's voice lifted in excitement and he disentangled himself from the pilot to sit next to him.

"You got it!" Murdock's own enthusiasm with the game was building.

He put the spooky, toothy grin of the ghost which kept popping in and out of the van temporarily out of his mind as he focused on entertaining Sammy and easing his own fears.

"What're the trees saying now?" Sammy wondered, eyes wide in fright, as the wind wreaked havoc around the van, lashing the trees in its frenzied quest to be heard.

"Oh no." Murdock shook his head in mock seriousness.

"What's wrong?" Sammy turned big, fearful eyes on the pilot.

"They wouldn't," Murdock pursed his lips in feigned anger, "they wouldn't do that to us…" he trailed off, "not when we're stuck in here with the wind and the rain howling like mad around us."

"What?" Sammy knelt on the bench beside Murdock, grasping the pilot's arms, fervently searching the man's face for an answer.

"They're having a party out there." Murdock leaned back in the seat and scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"We're stuck in here and they are out there having a grand old party." He waved one arm in front of him in the general direction of the trees outside of the van which continued to sway in the violent wind, as he continued, "You'd think they could've invited us." He looked at Sammy, shaking his head in exaggerated outrage.

Intrigued, Sammy sat down next to the pilot once again, "What kind a party are they havin'?"

"A tree-top party." Murdock's eyes grew wide with excitement as he looked over at the young boy.

"What's that?" Sammy inadvertently shivered as a particularly large boom of thunder sounded overhead.

"It's only the bestest kind of parties there is," Murdock said with deep conviction, his eyes lighting up as he started an elaborate story of tree-top parties, half believing his own fantastical tales of tree-tops swaying to the beautiful music of the wind and dancing to the beat of the raindrops as they dined on sweet acorns and cream cheese pastries.

He knew that if BA were there he would have put a stop to it, calling him a 'fool' and accusing him of lying to the four-year-old. If only he didn't start to believe his own stories once he started telling them, BA probably wouldn't have that much of a problem with them.

Sammy began to laugh as Murdock started speaking in different voices, mimicking the conversation of the trees which continued to snap, creak, and pop in the wind outside. He was completely immersed in the world of tree-top parties; Murdock alternately pretending to be 'Lady Guinevere' and 'Gentleman Guy', when Murdock suddenly stopped talking and the man's face became serious once again. Sammy drew near to the pilot, immediately fearful at the abrupt change in the man.

"What's a matter?" The question was whispered; Murdock had to strain to hear it.

"Nothin'," the pilot answered cheerily, "nothin's wrong, nothing to worry about young muchacho." He plastered a sloppy smile on his face.

"I'm a scared," Sammy admitted. The story had taken his mind off of the storm, but now, all he could hear was the wind and all he could think of was Dean outside in it, getting cold and maybe even being hurt.

"Nothin' to be afraid of." Murdock grinned reassuringly. "'Sides, everyone gets afraid every once an' awhile."

"Uh unh." Sammy's head swiveled back-and-forth in the negative before he rested it against Murdock's chest, and crawled onto his lap. "Dean never gets a scared and Dad never gets a scared. Only I do."

"Not true!" Murdock pulled back to look at the now tear-streaked face of the little boy.

"I get a scared sometimes and so does BA and the Face-man, and the Colonel. I bet your Dad and Dean get a scared sometimes too, they just don't say it."

"Really?" Sammy wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and searched for the truth in the brown eyes of the man who had fast become his protector and friend.

"Really," Murdock smiled and Sammy rested his head against the man's chest once more.

"Do you think they're okay?" Sammy wished they would hurry on back so they could get out of this place.

Something about it didn't seem right and he was tired, hungry and scared. He missed Dean and he missed his Dad and Uncle Bobby.

"They're okay and they will be here before you can say 'Who's your uncle'." Murdock cradled the young boy in his arms and rubbed small circles on his back.

"Now, where was I?"

He followed the thread of his conversation with Sammy, trying to remember where he'd left off in his story when the ghost had made an impromptu visit in the middle of 'Lady Guinevere's' discourse with 'Gentleman Guy' and had subsequently shattered Murdock's made-up reality.

In spite of the ghost's random appearances in the van, it had done nothing to harm either Sammy or him. Murdock wondered why the ghost merely taunted him. Maybe something about the van or the young boy who was now sleeping in his arms kept the spirit from acting out. Exhausted, Murdock closed his eyes, oblivious of the deathly glare trained on him.


	17. Unexpected Help

For disclaimer, see prologue.

* * *

Unexpected Help

BA kicked down the front door without preamble and quickly deposited Dean, who was beginning to regain consciousness, onto the shabby, dust-covered couch. He hastily felt Face for a pulse and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he found one. It was thready and erratic, but it was there.

Next, he laid his unconscious friend out on the floor and watched his chest for the telltale rise-and-fall that would let him know that he was still breathing. Seconds ticked by, BA watched, growing more and more frantic as he could not detect any movement whatsoever.

Before BA knew what was happening, Dean was sitting on the floor next to him, one hand clutched to his injured side and the other resting atop Face's still, unmoving form. He sat there quietly for what seemed like ages and let out a ragged breath.

"He's breathing." Dean's voice was hoarse and his throat burned when he spoke.

Being strangled by a ghost was pretty much like the real thing except you couldn't grasp onto the otherworldly hands in an attempt to pry them away. Dean had hated the helplessness he felt as he struggled beneath the unrelenting hands and couldn't breathe. If BA hadn't been there, he would not be alive.

"BA lookout!" The Colonel's voice seemed to come from nowhere.

BA swiveled his head around looking for the man when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. What appeared to be a little girl was skipping her way toward them, heading in Dean's direction. The smile she wore on her face did little to ease BA's discomfit. Her arms were clasped behind her back, as though she were holding something that she wanted to surprise them with.

"Salt," Dean croaked, "we need to make a circle around us of salt."

The little girl reached them and stopped directly in front of Dean. He turned to her, knowing intuitively that she was a vengeful spirit and not the little girl that she appeared to be. He faced the otherworldly being, instinctually shielding Face's body from it as he would Sammy.

BA, torn between protecting his friends and doing as Dean asked, wavered for a moment before hastily rising to his feet and running into the kitchen to search the cupboards and pantry for any salt that he could find, hoping that it didn't need to be any special kind of salt. He pulled each and every cupboard open, revealing rusted cans, filthy plates, and mold-covered foodstuffs. None of them contained any salt.

"Whatchya doin'?" The little girl rocked back-and-forth on her heels, watching Dean with her dimpled smile firmly in place.

"Just taking care of my friend," Dean answered, not taking his eyes off the little girl, inadvertently leaning away from her and closer to the man he was protecting.

"You wanna play?" She cocked her head to the side, rocking forward on the balls of her feet. "You remind me of my brother Daniel and you're not old like the man upstairs." She wrinkled her freckled nose in distaste.

"Um, I'm kind of busy here." Dean's throat ached from the forced speech and he winced at the pain simple speech was causing him.

"What happened to you?"

It was as though she was actually seeing him for the first time and she brought her hands from out of behind her back, pointing a bony finger to the injury on his side. Her other hand held a soiled, tattered doll.

Dean's eyes followed to the spot she was pointing at, and he looked down at his aching side for the first time since the trying ordeal had begun. He drew in a sharp breath as he gingerly prodded his now inflamed sore side. He was still covered in dry blood and knew that his throat sported a mass of dark, purple bruises from where he had nearly been strangled to death just a few short minutes ago.

"Uh, long story." Dean looked up at the spirit that had drawn nearer to him and was reaching out a hand to his side.

He pulled back from her, flinching as his side protested the jerky movement.

"I just want to help."

She pulled her hand back, resting it at her side. Tears gathered in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled dangerously, reminding Dean of Sammy.

"Don't cry." He impulsively reached out to the little ghostly girl.

A loud racket caused Dean to stop mid-reach and both turned in the direction of the stairs. Hannibal was making his way down the decaying steps. He was tottering precariously on the edge of a step in the middle of the staircase. The remainder of the railing, unable to support his weight, had crumbled to the ground floor in a mass of rotting wood.

BA came rushing from the kitchen, a cylindrical container grasped in one hand. He took in the scene before him as though it were all happening in slow motion: the spectral girl leaning closer to Dean as she reached out a hand to touch his wound, Dean backing away, yet reaching out a hand, Hannibal wind milling his arms in an attempt to regain his footing, and Face sluggishly coming out of his state of unconsciousness. It was all so surreal.

BA wasn't sure where he was needed most, but seeing that the Colonel was about to take a nosedive over the edge of the staircase, he was propelled into action. Tossing the container of salt in the general vicinity of where Dean sat, hoping the boy would be able to get to it in time to protect himself and Face; he raced to aid the Colonel.

Murdock's tired eyes snapped open. Instantly on guard, he wracked his lethargic mind for what had caused him to wake so abruptly. Sammy lay curled up against him, still fast asleep. His little body felt like a space heater against his.

The storm continued to rage outside, wind thrashing the trees and rocking the van. Rain pounded the ground and exterior of the van mercilessly, beating a staccato rhythm in his brain.

Sammy's body, pressed tightly against his side, radiated a small amount of heat which alerted his dormant senses to the sudden drop of temperature which had initially woken him from a dead sleep. The temperature in the van had dropped dangerously low. It was now cold enough for him to see his breath and Sammy, though his body gave off heat, was shivering in his sleep.

Blinking drowsily, he stifled a yawn and took a cautious look around, carefully stretching out his stiff limbs so as not to disturb Sammy's sleep. The source of the frigid temperature sat in the middle of the van, watching him with cold, cadaverous eyes.

"You and your friends must leave," the voice was hostile, the complete opposite of what one would expect given the handsome features of the boy who stared contemptuously at Murdock.

Swallowing hard, Murdock found his mouth was too dry to speak, so he simply nodded his head. Mesmerized, Murdock finally tore his eyes away from those of the ghost who had apparently come to warn him and looked down at Sammy. Casting a beseeching look at the ghost, as he still could not find his voice, he let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding when the ghost nodded.

"I would not harm a child, though there are others here that will," the voice had softened considerably and the dark eyes took on a haunted quality.

Murdock's heart clenched in compassion for the ghost of the boy who sat in front of him. He wondered how this boy had died and what pain had rendered him such a vengeful being. How could he distinguish between the innocence of childhood and the guilt of tainted adulthood? How was he able to restrain himself from inflicting harm on a child when there were others that couldn't? Or was it that they wouldn't? Murdock recalled that horribly long night in the hotel and how that spirit had actually sought out the children. How had it chosen its victims? Why was this one behaving so differently from the rest?

"I only wish that you leave," the boy spoke, breaking through Murdock's musings. "I don't seek to do any harm, though I can see that the temperature is too cold for you. I am sorry that I was unable to warn your friends beforehand." He cast his eyes downward. "I had hoped to scare you away."

"Don't have keys," Murdock's voice was husky from sleep, but he was delighted that it was finally working, "for the van," he nodded his head in the direction of the driver's seat, "can't leave yet," he shrugged. He left out that it would be impossible for him to leave without his friends.

"Oh." The boy looked up at him, understanding dawning in his dark eyes.

He grinned and it wasn't that eerie Cheshire-like grin from before, but a lopsided grin. A grin that a kid who had been caught sneaking cookies from the cookie jar would give his mom while proclaiming his innocence, though truth-revealing crumbs graced his face.

"Sorry."

"'S okay," Murdock shrugged, returning the kid's sheepish grin with one of his own.

"I'm Daniel," the boy offered his name before disappearing once again as lightning struck, illuminating the outside, revealing the haggard, unshaven face of another ghost. This one did not look friendly. Murdock gulped, hoping that this one would not be interested in him or Sammy.

The container of salt came to a rest just on the other side of the little girl who had finally been able to come close enough to Dean to touch his side. The iciness of her touch nearly caused him to pass out, but he gritted his teeth and held onto consciousness. Instead of causing the ache in his side to increase, the pain seemed to subside almost at once. It was easier for him to breathe.

The little girl smiled at him and he noticed that, just like Sammy, she was missing one of her top and one of her bottom teeth.

"Is that better?" She cupped a hand under his chin, peering into his eyes.

Dean nodded, forgetting what he was supposed to be doing.

"You're just like Danny." The little girl giggled. "Shhh…he hates when I call him 'Danny'." She placed a finger over her lips and looked around the living room as though expecting to see her brother there.

"What's your name?" The addition of a scratchy male voice caused both the ghostly girl and Dean to jump.

Weak and battered, Face cautiously sat up and hesitantly touched his face with gentle, timid fingers wincing at the pain it elicited. _Damn it, not my face. How am I supposed to run a decent scam when my face is all busted up?_

The girl raised startled eyes on the man and whispered, "Maria." She was in awe of the handsome, polite man sitting in her living room.

"That's a pretty name." Face smiled, lamenting at how gritty his voice sounded. _What the hell happened?_

His head pounded as he took in the dim interior of a diminutive living room completely unaware of how he had gotten there. Spying Hannibal tumbling gracelessly off the staircase into BA's outstretched arms, he shook his head to clear it, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Hey kid, weren't you supposed to clean up?" Face cast a questioning look at Dean, wondering why he hadn't already performed what should have been a simple task. "So, we got another kid to add to our list of kidnap victims?" He asked the room at large, attempting one of his patented smiles, but grimacing in pain as his split lip protested.

"Face, man, it's good to see you awake." BA smiled at his friend, bewildering him even more.

"What?" He shrugged his shoulders, leery of the attention he was receiving as BA knelt down to give the man a rare and gentle hug.

"What's going on?" Face asked, looking from Hannibal who had regained his composure and was lighting as cigar as he walked toward his men, to BA who was beaming at him in undisguised relief. "Where are Murdock and Sammy?" He looked at Dean, noticing that the little girl, Maria, had seemingly disappeared.

"We think they are at the van," Hannibal said around his cigar.

Dean grabbed the container of salt BA had lobbed at him earlier, noting that the ghost was no longer with them. Not knowing whether or not that was a good thing, he looked at each man in turn.

"We better get back to the van," Dean said.

"Don't know about that kid, maybe we better wait the storm out here." Hannibal felt more confident now that the little girl was gone and he had his men with him.

"Maria could come back at any moment and…" he swallowed, sending a pleading look in BA's direction.

"And there are others out there who are not as nice as she is," BA finished, hauling Face to his feet.

"What do you mean by that?" Face asked in confusion. The little girl had been sweet; she couldn't have been more than five years old. Surely she wasn't a threat to them.

"Face, the same guy who did that to you is out there and the one who gave Dean that bruise around his neck is out there too. What if they made it to the van?" BA sent a meaningful look in Hannibal's direction.

Face may not remember what had happened to him, but surely the Colonel would understand that Murdock and Sammy could be in grave danger. He didn't know what had happened to Hannibal while he was upstairs, but from the frantic way he had called out his warning when the little girl, Maria, was approaching him and Dean, it couldn't have been all tea parties and pleasantry. No, something strange had happened, and BA didn't know what it was, but he hoped that the Colonel wasn't writing it off as a hallucination or something akin to that.

"Oh." Face blanched at the thought of whoever had beaten him up getting his hands on Murdock and Sammy.

If BA hadn't been holding onto him, he would have fallen as his legs buckled beneath him. Whoever had attacked him had done a thorough job.

"Dean, go into the kitchen and clean up quick before we head back to the van," Hannibal, in charge once again, commanded. "BA, start heading to the van with Face."

BA spared an apprehensive look at Hannibal before shaking his head and moving toward the door.

Hearing the same no nonsense tone in the Colonel's voice as he was used to hearing in his own father's voice, Dean obeyed without question. Jogging into the kitchen, he found a dirty old dish towel lying next to the sink and turned the faucet on. Waiting until the water turned from slimy brown to almost clear, he wet the towel in the sink and began to wash off the caked on blood.

"Here let me get that for you." Hannibal took the towel from Dean's shaking hands and finished cleaning away the blood.

Noting the infected injury on his side, he carefully washed the site of the wound, wincing in sympathy when Dean stiffened in pain. Satisfied that he had done the best he could to cleanse the wound and that Dean would no longer look like the sole survivor of a blood-soaked battlefield, the Colonel took the old faded afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders. Gathering the protesting kid up in his arms, he headed out of the house.


	18. Getting out of Dodge

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N**: References to the opening credits of the A-Team and Season 5, episode 3 "Firing Line".

* * *

Getting out of Dodge

"Put me down!" Dean scowled and kicked in a vain effort to loosen Hannibal's firm grip on him. "I can walk to the van by myself." His throat still ached and he hated how weak he sounded.

"I think that you, of all people, would want to get back to your brother as quickly as possible."

The Colonel smirked as he ran, carrying Dean through the rain, trying to keep him dry, knowing that he was only partially succeeding. In spite of the kid's shivering, he was running a slight fever and Hannibal hoped that getting him to the van and into something dry would help to break his fever. He wondered how he had injured his side and where those ugly bruises around his neck had come from. They hadn't been there before. It had him worried.

He was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened in the house with the little girl. It had to have been part of a bad dream brought on by the injury to his shin. It couldn't have been real; ghosts did not exist. _Yeah, tell that to the ghost that nearly killed you._

"Where're BA and Face?" Dean questioned, choosing to ignore the fact that the Colonel had actually made some sense.

"They're up ahead, probably already to the van." Hannibal's shin was throbbing painfully as his feet pounded along the dirt road.

"You think they're with Sammy and Murdock?"

Dean's eyelids were starting to feel heavy, and he fought to keep them from closing. He needed to remain awake and alert. One of the ghosts could attack at any moment and he had to be ready to defend himself and his little brother as well as Hannibal, Murdock, BA, and Face. Never mind the fact that he was currently being carried like a little baby and could barely keep his eyes open.

"Yes, now stop squirming."

Hannibal could see the van up ahead. Just a few more yards and they would be in the clear and on their way from this little side trip to hell. Just a few more yards and he would be able to assess the kid's and Face's wounds while BA got them the hell out of Dodge. Just a few more yards and things would start to make sense once again; the world would be set to rights when they were on the road. Yes, just a few more yards and he'd be back with his team, Dean would be reunited with his brother, and everything that had happened would be nothing but a fast fading nightmare-like fairytale.

"Sir," Dean hesitated as he spoke.

"Yes?" _Just a few more feet._

"Could you at least let me walk the last few feet?"

Chuckling, Hannibal shook his head. "You sure got spunk kid."

He lowered Dean to the ground and they walked the last three feet together.

"Hurry up, get in the van," BA shouted over the steady drumbeat of the rain.

He was already in the driver's seat, Face sat dazed in the seat directly behind him and Murdock sat in the very back with a sleeping Sammy. Hannibal swung Dean into the van, slammed the door shut behind him and reached for the passenger door.

Someone slammed into him from behind, wrenching his hand from the door handle. A face filled with tobacco stained teeth leered at him as rain pelted his face painfully. The wind howled around him, nearly drowning out the cackle of the madman pinning Hannibal to the side of the van with some ethereal force. He felt a pressure against his windpipe and spots danced in front of his eyes as the simple act of breathing began to elude him.

The wind shifted, lightning struck, the door to the van opened and BA raced around the side of the van to where Hannibal was engaged in a life and death struggle with a foul phantom bent on his destruction. The ghost turned its hollow eyes briefly upon BA before once again returning its attention to wresting the life from Hannibal.

BA grasped the Colonel around the waist and attempted to wrench him from the ghost's grasp. Ice coated his skin and sliced through his heart as another incorporeal being placed a frozen hand on his arm. His breath came out in fogs of crystal frost in the air.

They were all going to die here, he had failed his team, Dean, and Sammy; a sob wracked his muscular frame as he hung his head in defeat and sunk to his knees in the mud.

"Get up and leave, now!" A disembodied voice commanded.

The death grip around Hannibal's throat was released and he stumbled a bit before helping BA to his feet. Though a bit dazed, both men scrambled into the van and BA brought the engine rumbling to life in one swift movement.

The tires spit up gravel and mud in their wake as the van peeled out of the dirt driveway and onto the highway at breakneck speed. The Colonel rubbed at his aching throat before taking a look in the rearview mirror.

"Face, help the kid get a shirt on," Hannibal ordered, noting the bewildered look in his Lieutenant's eyes.

Face blinked twice before scrambling to obey the order, thankful for something to do other than think about what had just happened on the farm. _Surely it had all been some horrendous nightmare that would go away after a good night's sleep_, he mused as he dug out one of his best silk shirts and tossed it to the boy in the back.

"Here ya go kid." He smiled crookedly. "It's a one of a kind design, try not to ruin it."

Dean glared back, smirking as he pulled the shirt over his head. If he weren't so cold and tired, he would have gladly foregone putting on the shirt.

"Thanks," he returned the man's toothy grin with one of his own before turning his attention once again to Sammy who slept curled up on Murdock's lap.

Leaning against the pilot, he placed a hand on his brother's back and his eyes slipped shut. Though he strove to keep them open, they rebelled and soon his breathing evened out as sleep overtook him.

Murdock reached an arm around Dean and leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

"Colonel?"

"Yes Captain?" Hannibal watched the lieutenant through the rearview mirror.

"Where we headed?"

Grinning around the freshly lit cigar in his mouth, Hannibal shook his head, before stating, "The hell outta Dodge."

"Hannibal," BA growled, wanting more of a destination from his leader than that.

"Dr. Maggie Sullivan's."

Hannibal glanced sideways at BA, waiting for the impending explosion.

"Hannibal!" BA shook his head, "We just left Bad Rock, the military's gonna be lookin' for us. How we gonna get past them?"

"Don't know." Hannibal leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, confident in the Sergeant's ability to get them safely to the doctor's for the medical attention they needed. "You're the one driving."

Muttering curses under his breath, BA turned the van around and headed back in the direction they had just left. He knew some back roads they could take. It would take longer than if they used the main roads, but it was safer and there was less of a chance the military would be using those roads; the military had probably moved on from Bad Rock anyway. Besides, it was beginning to get dark and the van was easily hidden in the dark.

A car passed the van and BA held his breath as it kept on going in the direction they had just left_. Not military._ He hoped that whoever was driving the car would not stop off at the farm they had left.

**Several hours earlier**

As John and Bobby pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, the first thing they noticed was the obscene number of police cars parked near the room where they had left the boys. Fear closed an iron fist around John's heart, leaving him cold. The amount of yellow tape surrounding their hotel room did nothing to ease the panic which had begun to form a tight ball in the pit of his stomach.

Barely placing the truck in, 'park,' unmindful of the painful protests his bandaged wounds made, he jumped from the vehicle ignoring Bobby's cry of, "Wait! John!"

He needed to find his sons, now. They needed to be alright. He would never forgive himself if anything had happened to them, if they were gone. He knew that Mary would never forgive him either.

Bobby double-checked that the parking brake was set and hurriedly followed John toward the yellow tape which barred their way to the hotel room. Before John could trespass the line, he placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Let me go," John growled out, his eyes focused unseeing on the door of the hotel room where his sons should be safely tucked away.

"There's a police officer over there, let's just check with him first. Maybe the boys are with the police, .no sense in going in half-cocked," Bobby pulled John away from the yellow barrier and toward a young police officer who warily regarded the approaching men.

"Can I help you men?" He decided to take the bulls by the horns so to speak.

"What happened?" John's voice held a steely edge to it; his eyes were fixed on the door of the hotel room where his sons should be waiting for him.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, the officer followed the man's gaze. "There was a shooting."

John's eyes pinned those of the officer's as he reluctantly tore them away from the room his sons had occupied. Fear, anger, and sorrow registered in his eyes and the officer took an involuntary step backward.

"Who..." John swallowed the lump forming in his throat, "who was involved?"

"Um," the officer wasn't sure if he was authorized to share any information with the public, but looking into this man's eyes, he could see emotions swirling in them that he was hard put to identify and wanted to ease his mind. Though he couldn't recognize all of them, he could see the despair and hear it hanging in the air between them.

Seeing the young officer vacillating between the two grim looking men and the hotel, Colonel Decker approached them, cautiously taking stock of the situation. He had been called in when the A-Team was discovered in the area and was being looked to as an 'expert' on the A-Team. Over the years, he had gleaned a lot of information about them and was revered as the man with the most experience in dealing with them. He knew where many of their hideouts were and had nearly succeeded in capturing them on numerous occasions.

What he couldn't wrap his mind around as he approached the three men was the shooting. The A-Team, in all of his dealings with them, had never killed anyone outside of combat. Truth be told, it had him puzzled that they had left a dead man in their wake and had left two others alive, tied up, and waiting for them. Neither man had been up for conversation at the time, having been beaten unconscious. Again, not typical of the A-Team's MO. Decker recognized the men as wanted criminals for hire, kind of the antithesis of the A-Team.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Colonel Decker asked the officer.

"Um, these men want to know who was involved in the shooting."

The officer was relieved to have the Colonel there and stepped back even further from the men who'd approached him for answers, trusting that the military man could handle them himself.

"Colonel," John acknowledged the man by his rank and gave a slight tilt of his head, just keeping himself from full out saluting the man. He hadn't been in the military for years and yet the urge to salute seemed to still be there beneath the surface.

"Military?" Colonel Decker could see it in his stance, but felt compelled to ask the question.

He had chosen military for life, and though the man standing in front of him clearly had not, it was still very much a part of his bearing. It was still evident in the way he stood and the way he mentally assessed the situation around him without giving anything away overtly.

"Marine," John was getting anxious for answers and his eyes once again rested on the door of the hotel room where he had last seen his sons.

Balling his hands into fists, he turned once more to the Colonel, asking, "Who was involved in the shooting?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, but Decker heard the question loud and clear and the underlying threat lacing it.

"Sorry, but that's classified information," Decker stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Look," John grasped the Colonel's jacket front, oblivious to Bobby's hand on his arm, and the advance of other military officers, "my sons were in that room," he pointed toward the door which remained sealed off and closed. "I want to know what happened and who was involved. I want to know why the military is involved. I want to know where my sons are."

His face was an inch from the Colonel's, whose eyes had narrowed in anger at the actions of the former Marine. Bobby's attempt at wresting the hunter from the military man abruptly halted when John released the man's shirt front.

"Calm down John," Bobby hissed in his ear, but John shook his friend off and continued to glare at the Colonel.

"I want some answers, my sons, where are they?" John's voice cut through the still afternoon air, though it had not been raised.

"I don't know anything about your sons." Colonel Decker stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated.

"The hell you don't, they were in that room waiting for me." He jabbed a finger in the Colonel's face. "And there is yellow tape sealing the room off, where _are_ _my_ sons?"

Decker swallowed and took a step back, John followed, pressing closer.

"I don't give a damn about the shooting or who was involved, I just want my sons. Sammy and Dean. They're four and eight years old. Where the hell are they?"

"Uh." The officer who had stepped off to the side cleared his throat and sent an apologetic look in Decker's direction, before speaking, "I believe," he looked down at a pad of paper in his hand, "there was a report of," he broke off and swallowed hard when he caught the murderous look in John's eyes, "uh two young boys being carried out of the room where the uh, shooting took place."

He glanced once more down at the paper in his hand, twisting it nervously, unable to hold John's pained gaze.

"They were taken by the uh, alleged shooters." Having finished his report, he stood there silently, hoping that he hadn't overstepped his position.

"Thank you _officer _for the detailed report." Decker grimaced.

He had not been privy to all of the details of what had happened, having just arrived on the scene. Damn, the A-Team had two young children as hostage, something else they never did. Just what the hell was going on here?

The new information he was just hearing also put the car chase that had taken place hours before his arrival in a new light. Had the MPs actually shot at the A-Team, knowing there were children in the van with them before they'd lost the van and returned to the scene of the crime? He was feeling the onset of a headache.

"Who has my sons?" John's heart plummeted.

Bobby's hand resting on his arm was the only thing keeping him from sinking to the ground. Whoever had his sons was also wanted by the military; that much was clear. There would be no need of military presence otherwise.

"Have you ever heard of the A-Team?" Decker realized that the Marine in front of him would not be easily diverted and opted for the truth.

"You mean that mercenary group wanted by the military for crimes committed during the war in Vietnam?" John looked at the Colonel dumbfounded. "I thought those stories were just rumors, you mean those men really exist?"

"Yes, they really exist and the military has been looking for them since 1972, they have escaped from secure military facilities twice, once while in front of a firing squad."

John paled considerably. Maybe he'd shared too much information with the distraught father. "I've been brought in because I have had the most dealings with them, in particular with their leader, John 'Hannibal' Smith, I trust you've heard of him?"

John nodded, paling even more. All of those stories he had dismissed out of hand as blatant, unfounded rumors turned legend, had all been true, and now his sons, whom he had left to go after a monster which had almost succeeded in killing him, were in the hands of those ruthless soldiers of fortune. He'd cut his hunting trip short, thanks to Bobby's aid, and returned to his sons days earlier than projected, and, he'd been too late.

Colonel John, "Hannibal," Smith, Lieutenant Templeton, "Face," Peck, and Sergeant Bosco, "BA, Bad Attitude," Baracus, had his sons as hostages. All of them were legendary for their service to their country and were equally legendary as the cold-blooded murderers who had robbed the Bank of Hanoi and killed their C.O., Morrison. They had spent the past fifteen years living as mercenaries. Who knows how many people they had killed in those fifteen years? All for money.

John's disgust was far outweighed by the fear which held him tenaciously by the throat. He had to find his sons before the A-Team decided to dispose of them. He had to get them out of harm's way and did not trust the military to keep his two young boys at the forefront of their minds as they sought to bring down the infamous A-Team.

Judging by the bullet casings which covered the ground, he was willing to bet that those who attempted to halt the A-Team's escape had not given a second thought to the fact that they had taken children hostage.

Pointedly ignoring the yellow tape, John stepped deftly over it and strode to the room his sons had been stolen from and removed the tape from it. The officer's shouts at him to stop fell on deaf ears as he opened the door. His heart stopped beating momentarily as he took in the disarray of the room. His sons hadn't gone willingly, there had been a struggle.

Stepping into the dark room, he picked up the keys to the Impala from the floor littered with the contents of their first aid kit. His eyes fell to the bed nearest the bathroom, the one Sammy would have occupied and his knees buckled as the sight of dried blood greeted him. Bile rose from his stomach, burned in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

Bobby stood beside him, eyes wide as he took in the destruction of the room. The mirror over the dresser had been smashed, bits of it were embedded in the carpet and glinted a dull brackish color in the half light. Trying to find his voice and failing, he placed an arm around John's shoulders and steered him from the room.

Things didn't quite add up, his eyes took in the salt lines, which had become broken and scattered as well as the nearly emptied first aid kit. Had the boys also dealt with something of a spiritual nature? He hoped to God not, but the evidence he was seeing told him otherwise.

"How long ago did they leave?" John questioned the officer on his way to the Impala.

"Ah, about two, three hours ago." He scratched his head, looking at the pad in his hand once again before looking up into the anxious father's face.

"Which direction did they go?"

"Uh, south, I think." The officer gestured, indicating the direction the van had gone.

"Hold on John." Bobby raced to catch up with him as John raced to the car. "I'm coming with you. I care about them too."

"Fine." John wasn't up to arguing with the seasoned hunter. He pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing as they tossed up gravel in their wake.


	19. Worry

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N**: AU for both fandoms. 'Spoilers' for season 1 episode 5: "Black Day at Bad Rock" and 13: "The Beast from the Belly of Boeing".

* * *

Worry

Worried about Face and Dean, BA glanced in the review mirror and pushed the gas pedal down to the floor of the van. They had both been injured by their ghostly encounter at the farm and looked like they were on death's door.

He knew that aside from being disoriented, Face might have some internal injuries as well. It looked like he had been trampled by a herd of horses rather than messed up by an ethereal entity. Dean, though he was one tough kid, looked weak and peaked. BA knew that, aside from being mentally and emotionally exhausted, he probably had an infection stemming from the wound in his side. Shaking his head, he sped up, the sooner they got to their destination, the better. He took little notice of the black vehicle they passed along the way.

"Bobby," John's eyes never left the road as he addressed the grim-faced man next to him, "you see anything out of the ordinary back there?" They'd been driving for a while now and he was beginning to feel as though he was missing something.

"You talkin' supernatural type out of the ordinary or military renegades kidnapping your sons, out of the ordinary?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at the hunter.

"So, it wasn't just me, what do you think they encountered?" He asked the seasoned hunter.

"Had to be some sort of spirit. Hard to be sure exactly what it was until we ask Dean, but whatever it was, it sure caused a whole hell of a lot of damage to that room."

"Just hope it didn't cause any harm to my boys."

John was clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. Picturing Sammy or Dean injured and bleeding had his heart clenching. He'd made a promise to Mary to keep the boys safe and now it seemed it was out of his hands. Why the hell had he left the boys alone in that hotel room? He shouldn't have trusted their safety to an eight year old boy.

"We'll get 'em back," Bobby promised.

He glanced sideways at John, hoping to whatever god was out there that what he'd said would be proven true and that Sammy and Dean would be recovered well and alive. He didn't know what would happen to the haggard man if the boys weren't recovered. He'd given up his former life when his wife was killed by a demon and had brought two young boys into the hunting business as a result, losing himself in the process. If he lost Sammy and Dean…he didn't even want to go there.

Bobby's heart ached for the boys, knowing that the future for them, if John kept things the way they were going, was bleak at best. Sammy was just now the age Dean was when he'd first met them. Though he noticed that both John and Dean tried to shelter the boy from the supernatural as much as possible, he knew it was just a matter of time before the young boy would be inducted in the 'family business', crappy as it was. He wouldn't wish what John and he did on his worst enemy, let alone young kids.

"Colonel?"

BA glanced at the man he'd never stopped thinking of as his commanding officer despite the fact that they had been out of the service for over a decade now. The man looked plumb exhausted and he supposed that he didn't look much better, not after what had happened in the hotel room and then at the farmhouse.

"Sergeant?"

Hannibal didn't even look at the other man. He had propped himself up against the passenger door and allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment of respite, trusting implicitly that BA would keep them all safe. The man had never let them down before and he had no reason to doubt him now.

He had a lot to wrap his mind around, from what he'd walked into at the hotel, to the incident at the farmhouse. Dealing with the mercenaries was all par for the course, but kidnapping, whether incidental or not, and whatever the hell it was that had happened at the farmhouse, were a bit out of his league.

"You okay?" The moment the question left his mouth, he wished he could recall it.

Hannibal pried an eye open and glared at BA for a second before shifting in his seat so that he was sitting more upright. _No rest for the wicked_, he thought wryly, _or a commanding officer, never mind that I'm no longer an official member of the Army._

"I'm fine," he assured his Sergeant, not bothering to leave the disgruntled note out of his voice.

He never had liked it when his well-being was questioned, feeling that it somehow made him look weak or incompetent. It was something a commanding officer, retired, dishonorably or otherwise, should never be seen as. Never mind that he currently felt as though he'd been on the losing side of an ill-matched barroom brawl and then run over by a train.

He caught the worried look BA shot at the rearview mirror and sat upright, suddenly alert for any danger which the younger officer might have ascertained. Both eyes open now, he scanned the road ahead of them and then twisted around to look out the passenger door window, wincing as he inadvertently wrenched his injured leg.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he let out an all too shaky breath and shot an irritated look in BA's direction before he realized that the taciturn man's look of concern was directed, not at some unseen menace on the road, but at the passengers seated in the back of the van.

They were, as a group, much too quiet for the seasoned Colonel's liking. He shared an apprehensive look with BA and cast a furtive glance at the silent occupants at the back of the van.

Face had moved to the back of the van with Murdock, and Dean was leaning heavily against him; every now and again a minute shiver racked his pale form. Both of them had their eyes closed. His Lieutenant's mouth was drawn downward in a tight frown and his eyes bore dark circles beneath them, as though he hadn't slept in weeks. His eyes twitched almost imperceptibly, the way they did when the younger man was caught in the beginning of a nightmare or a particularly engaging dream.

Sammy was sleeping soundly in Murdock's lap, curled up against him, head resting on the man's chest. The pilot was the only one who appeared to be awake. His eyes held a tired wariness as he stared straight ahead at nothing. He absentmindedly stroked Sammy's hair with a tremulous hand, covering Dean's hand which rested on Face's knee with his other hand.

He didn't acknowledge Hannibal's scrutiny which was mildly alarming. Gone was the man's usual lopsided grin, it had been replaced by a pensive scowl which was extremely disconcerting. Hannibal wondered what was going on in the usually jovial man's mind that had given him an almost murderous look, but knew that if he asked, Murdock would be less than forthcoming.

Heck, the other man might not even hear him in the current state he was in, reminded him of the time BA was catatonic, which put the entire team in danger. Though he hoped they were out of danger, at least temporarily, that wasn't the way their luck ran, especially lately. He just hoped they'd make it to Maggie's before all hell broke loose.

Broad tire tracks veering off from the right, as though someone had hurriedly peeled out of the eerie-looking driveway flashed by, marred the gravel and John felt a tug in his gut, an urge to turn around and check out what lay at the other end of the driveway. A brief image of his boys, cowering in fear, Sammy crying for him and Dean offering what little comfort he could to his brother brushed against the surface of his mind and he abruptly slammed on the brakes.

"Damn it John," Bobby swore, bringing an arm up to brace himself against the front dash. "Give a man a heads up."

Grateful he'd decided to wear a seatbelt, he graced the other man with a fierce glare wondering what the hell had caused him to slam on the brakes.

"Sorry Bobby," John's terse apology managed to sound far more put out than apologetic, but Bobby let it slide. "Got a sense that somethin's not quite right back there." He jutted his chin in the direction of the driveway they'd just passed up and reversed quickly.

"Damn it John, we ain't got time for this," Bobby shouted, slamming his hand against the dashboard. "Your boys are missing and you're looking for a goddamn hunt."

John's knuckles turned even whiter if possible as he slewed into the gravel driveway backwards, sending rocks flying. Jaw clenching and unclenching, chest heaving in anger, he sent a scathing look at Bobby.

"I _am_ looking for _my _boys," he spit out as he once more slammed on the brakes, sending Bobby and himself sideways, giving them whiplash, but not caring.

"Then why the fuck'd we stop here?" Bobby was now facing off with an irate John, matching him look for contemptuous look.

"Did you get a look at the tire tracks leading from this godforsaken place?"

Bobby eyed the other man speculatively and grunted his acquiesce at what he deemed might be considered a little fact finding tour.

"So, you think they took the boys this way?" Bobby conjectured, looking doubtfully at the stark scenery which surrounded them in the gathering darkness.

A shiver ran down his spine as something ghostly shimmered past the windshield. He reached for the salt-pellet filled shotgun John kept beneath the front seat of the car, but the spirit had already faded into the breezy night air.

"What the hell was that?" He breathed out as John left the car.

"Don't care," John grunted.

Sliding from the car, he knelt beside the headlights, using their unwavering beams to check out the tire tracks in the encroaching darkness. Ignoring Bobby's approach, he tentatively reached out a hand and touched the displaced gravel.

"John?" Bobby knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, glancing around with unease.

There was something off about this place and he didn't want to get caught up in the middle of it, now was not the time to be chasing after spirits. He hoped that John's hunch was wrong, that Dean and Sammy had not been driven down this road. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he felt the pressure of a clammy hand on his own shoulder.

Steeling himself, he readied the shotgun and swiveled, bringing the weapon to bear on what appeared to be the spirit of a dark-haired young man. Grimacing, he pulled the trigger. John turned at the same moment, pushing the shotgun to the side as the shot went off, sending the salt-spray wide. The spirit's eyes widened and it hissed, causing the air around them to crackle like an electric storm. Spots of light danced before Bobby's eyes as he struggled to breathe around the unseen hand squeezing his throat.

Almost as soon as the pressure began it ceased and Bobby grasped at his throat, rubbing it to ease some of the lingering pain. Standing, he whirled on John who had stood as well and was now facing the angry spirit which had choked him.

"What the hell?" Bobby once more trained the shotgun on the spirit which was currently crouched by a large tree and backing away from them.

"Don't," John spoke softly and held a forestalling hand up as he approached the cowering apparition.

Shaking his head, Bobby took careful aim and cursed as John stepped directly in his line of fire. Lowering the weapon, he grabbed for John's arm only to be shaken off. He watched warily as John held his hands out to the ghost in a gesture of supplication. What the fuck was he doing?

"Did you see two boys about this height?" John splayed his hands in an approximation of Dean and Sammy's height as he questioned the now flickering spirit.

Bobby shook his head; the man was completely off his rocker, asking ghosts for information about his sons' whereabouts. Much to his surprise, the ghost, before it vanished into the night air, nodded its head and pointed a dissolving finger in the direction of the road they'd just turned off from.

"Let's get out of here," John's voice was tight as he brushed past Bobby and slid behind the steering wheel.

Shaking his head, casting one last look at the large tree the spirit had seemed to merge itself with; Bobby resolutely followed John, keeping his weapon at the ready. It was clear to him that John had only one thing on his mind – the rescue of his sons.

For once Bobby fully approved of John's one-track mind as it was finally on something of merit and not hell-bent on revenge. Maybe now John would realize how important his sons were and start being a proper father to them.

Taking a sideways glance at the obstinate man, Bobby decided he wouldn't hold his breath. John looked as he always did when on a hunt – face hardened in a mask of determined indifference – as he peeled out of the driveway, heading in the opposite direction from which they'd come, the direction the spirit had indicated they should take.

Reaching past Bobby, John opened the glove compartment and pulled out a simple handgun. Not taking his eyes off the road, he reassured himself that the weapon was loaded and rested it on the seat beside him, within easy reach. He was no longer hunting the supernatural, but the men who'd stolen his boys, and he would get them back no matter what it took.

Swallowing hard, Bobby turned his gaze away from John and watched the road, keeping his eyes open for any signs of where the vehicle carrying Dean and Sammy might have gone. He didn't know what John had planned, wasn't sure he could talk the man down if it came to that, wasn't sure if he'd want to if something had happened to the boys.

"Uh, how much longer 'til we reach Maggie's?" Hannibal asked quietly, looking askance at the bulky driver.

BA grunted in response, sharing a look of concern for the four passengers in the back. He'd been aware of the peculiar quiet issuing forth from the interior of the van well before the Colonel had, and, though he had briefly considered letting Hannibal rest, he reasoned that he'd need more than just himself to be alert and aware of the situation prior to their arrival at the Doc's. He estimated that they'd be there in about a half an hour if he didn't have to double-back and do some fancy maneuvering to cover their tracks to keep the military from finding them.

Sighing, he spared the Colonel a fleeting look and answered, "'Bout thirty minutes, give or take."

He shrugged, passing up the road which would take them to Maggie's, ignoring Hannibal's questioning gaze which bore into the side of his head. He'd been driving for a good hour now, following Hannibal's directions and adding a few misleading detours along the way to throw off any potential followers.

Though the doctor had moved to a more secluded place just outside of town since they'd last been in need of her services, Hannibal had kept tabs on her and knew where the new clinic was, for which BA was monumentally grateful. It would be much easier for them to elude the military and the pesky Sheriff's department now that her clinic wasn't located in the center of the town.

"Wasn't that…" Hannibal trailed off as BA continued down the road as though he hadn't just passed turnoff they needed.

He craned his neck and watched the road, leading to the woman he'd often dreamed of one day returning to for the past five years, fade away as BA sped along, leaving it quickly behind. He'd spent many nights lost in memories and fantasies of the woman who'd tended to BA and helped them in spite of her misgivings. It seemed like an eternity since they'd met. He couldn't wait to see her again.

BA caught the wolfish grin which slowly crept across Hannibal's face and shook his head. He hoped that the charismatic man would not cause trouble with the Doc. If he remembered correctly, there had been some sparks between the two when they'd first met, but that hadn't stayed her hand from informing the town's Sheriff about their presence and getting himself and Face arrested. He was hoping that she wouldn't turn them away before they even stepped out of the van.

Maybe if she saw what poor shape Face was in, she'd feel obliged to help them. If worse came to worst, he hoped that the two young boys would be able to convince her not to turn them in, though he'd really rather not have to pull a guilt trip on her or use the boys in that way. He didn't think she'd be able to refuse them help, her doctor's code of ethics would keep her from doing that, but afterwards…that was iffy territory.

Spying a gravel drive off to the right, he slowed down and only hesitated slightly before pulling into it. Images of what they'd just very nearly not escaped chorused through his mind and he bit down the irrational fear that threatened to emerge. This driveway looked well used and, judging by the light which was twinkling from the porch, the house was currently being occupied by the living.

He drove cautiously along the tree-lined drive until he had room enough to execute a 'Y' turn and head back to the main road. He'd drive out past Maggie's once more and make another minor detour before heading to the good doctor's place. That ought to throw Colonel Decker and his goons off their trail, provided that they came across it in the first place. He prayed that they were just as incompetent as he remembered them being. And that they wouldn't recall them being in the area five years ago.

Grinning mischievously, he felt a slight weight lift off his chest. He'd felt out of his element since the moment he'd set foot in Dean and Sammy's hotel room, but now he felt things shifting in his favor. He was good at escape and evasion, had learned real quick how to cover, not only his own tracks, but those of his team's.

At first it had been something he'd had to do, purely out of necessity, but it had soon evolved into something of a game for him and he reveled in it. It was something he excelled at, like maintaining the van or beating up on some goon.

_Yeah, things are beginning to look up_, he thought as he turned down some random driveway and doubled back once again and heading to Maggie's.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noted that none of the occupants had moved, save for Sammy who'd snuggled into a more comfortable position in Murdock's lap. The pilot's eyes stared straight ahead; they were hard and glinting in the shadowy interior of the van.

BA could see what Hannibal couldn't, the man was holding onto sanity by a very thin and fraying string. If it wasn't for his twitching jaw and clenched fists, BA would have believed the man to already have fallen off that close-edged precipice.

Murdock caught BA watching him from the rearview mirror and fought the urge to growl at the much too nosy man. He could tell what the big man was thinking, that he was about to careen over the edge of sanity and wondered if he was afraid that he'd take them all with him. _As if, _Murdock thought as he glowered.

He knew that the Colonel thought he was already over that very sketchy ledge and wondered that BA had a better read of him than Hannibal, their fearless leader. He knew he wasn't being fair and yet couldn't help himself. He was sitting in the back of a van cuddling a sleeping four-year-old boy in his lap while nightmarish visions of ghosts comingled with memories he'd long ago buried deep within his fragile psyche. They shouldn't be resurfacing.

He was trying hard to bury them back down where they belonged, adding the recent bad events to them. Once that was done, he'd be okay; things would be hunky-dory and A-OK. It was just that the ghosts of the present and past didn't seem to want to comply and that scared him.

He hoped that BA would stop messing around and get somewhere soon before he lost what little hold he had on himself completely. That would not be a good thing, no sirree, not good at all. Crazy Murdock, really crazy Murdock, that is, was decidedly not a good thing for anyone.

"We're almos' there," BA's tense voice invaded his thoughts and he shared a brief, thankful look with the man through the mirror, letting out a shaky, pent-up breath.

_Almost there, almost safe, almost free from the demons swimming on the surface of my brain_, he thought in singsong. He clutched Sammy tighter to himself, greedily breathing in the scent of youth and innocence as BA brought the van to a halt off to the side of a medium-sized ranch house.

He sagged against the back of his seat and closed his eyes, pushing the dark, painful thoughts as far into the recesses of his mind as he could, knowing that they wouldn't stay back for long, but hoping they'd stay back long enough.


	20. Solicitude

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N**: The "A-Team" episode 106 aired February 22nd, 1983, entitled, "Black Day at Bad Rock," is referenced as well as "Without Reservations", the final episode of the "A-Team," aired March 8th, 1987.

* * *

Solicitude

BA drove carefully down the gravel road, peering into the dark woods on either side of the road that lead to Maggie's. Though he had no reason to expect an ambush, he was nevertheless alert for one. If there was one thing he'd learned in all of his years on the run, it was to be on constant alert for the unexpected.

He passed the Doc's driveway once more, ignoring Hannibal's almost imperceptible groan in favor of canvassing the area and making sure they weren't driving into a cleverly laid trap. Though they hadn't taken time to contact the woman who'd turned them in once before, BA wasn't taking any chances that the military wasn't going to put two and two together and track them down there, not with the lives of his team and two little boys hanging in the balance.

Satisfied that they weren't heading into a trap, BA turned the van around and drove behind the clinic. He parked his van as far into the woods as he could get her. Once the others were out and safe in the clinic, he'd cover her with branches, so that she'd be out of immediate danger of being spotted by the naked eye from the road.

Hannibal was already jumping out of the vehicle before BA had put her into park and was wrenching the sliding door open as BA opened his own door and joined him around the other side of the van. The Colonel hopped into the back of the van and pulled Dean from Face's side where he'd all but plastered himself to the conman.

Dean stirred from his state of half-sleep, but didn't protest as Hannibal lifted him and carried him out of the van. He tried to wake up so that he could walk, but his head felt as though it weighed an additional ten pounds, and, try as he might, he couldn't seem to lift it, let alone muster the strength necessary to walk wherever it was they were going.

"Dad?" He managed to croak out, in spite of his grogginess. "Where're we goin'?"

His head was foggy and he was having a hard time putting his disjointed thoughts together. The last thing he remembered was saying goodbye to his Dad before he left on a hunt and promising to look out for Sammy. Had his father already finished the hunt and returned for them? How come he couldn't remember it? He felt certain that there was something he should remember, but try as he might, he couldn't quite figure it out.

He wanted to insist that he could walk on his own, that his Dad should go back and get Sammy, but he couldn't, he was just so tired. Instead, he blinked up into the face of the man carrying him, wondering why his father wasn't answering him and why on earth the man was carrying him. His Dad had stopped carrying him many years ago, shortly after Mom had died. His heart began to race as he realized that he wasn't in his father's arms, but in the arms of a strange man with white hair. In a panic, he pushed frantically against the man's chest.

"Le' me go," he demanded in a voice which sounded far more hysterical than he'd meant it to.

He was a big boy now. He'd been left in charge of his little brother. He shouldn't be afraid, but he was. He was scared and cold and so damn tired, and, he hurt all over.

"Where's Sammy? Where's my Dad? Where're you taking me?" His panic grew as his questions were met with a stony silence.

The determined look on the man's face did little to ease his mounting sense of alarm. Something was wrong, and Dean had no idea where his little, helpless brother was. Dad was going to kill him if anything bad happened to Sammy.

BA helped Face out of the van, letting the still half-asleep man lean on him for support. BA's concern for the Lieutenant mounted as the man didn't even resist when he put an arm around his middle and hoisted him from the van to the ground.

The only sound that gave proof to BA that the man was still among the living was a slight wheeze which was followed by a gut-wrenching cough. BA held Face as he swayed on his feet. It was clear that he was going to have to carry the injured man to the doctor's door. Hoping that he wouldn't do more damage to his friend, he lifted the battered man and followed Hannibal, groaning as his lower back protested the strain that the Lieutenant's weight put on it.

"Come on fool," he cast over his shoulder at Murdock, "we're here now, bring Sammy."

"Aye aye," Murdock mumbled, mock-saluting the grouchy Sergeant.

Sammy shifted in his arms and he brushed a stray lock of hair from the young boy's face as he stood and hopped from the van. Sammy smiled in his sleep and Murdock marveled that the kid could sleep through everything that was going on. Murdock envied the boy, wishing that he too could sleep through it all instead of having to be one of the strong, somewhat sane, adults.

Hannibal pounded on the back door, ignoring Dean's weak struggles and his increasingly frantic babbling. The kid's skin felt warm to the touch and he was clearly not in the right frame of mind. Hannibal was worried. The kid had held up so well until now, he just needed him to hold out a little while longer.

Maggie would know what to do for him. She'd be able to fix Dean and the others. He wasn't concerned about his leg, though it was stiff and a sharp pain stabbed through it as he walked up the porch steps. Right now Face and Dean were his top priorities and then Murdock, BA, and, finally, himself.

"Come on Doc!" He shouted as loudly as he dared. "Open up! I got an emergency here!"

Fierce pounding followed the frantic words, which Maggie could not quite catch. They echoed in her small clinic/home. Some days she really regretted that she'd opted to make her clinic her home, but in this small town, it came in handy as she could be reached at all hours.

Maggie groaned audibly and tossed the covers off, plunking her earmarked book on the bedside table as she stood wearily to her feet and wrapped her ever-ready robe around her thin frame. She made her way out of her room and down the hall wondering who was disturbing her after hours and hoping that it was not too dire an emergency.

She had just gotten settled into bed; it had been a busy day and she was ready to relieve some tension from a long day of tending to persnickety patients. She had opened the latest mystery novel she'd purchased from the local bookstore and was looking forward to getting lost in the story of Melinda Walsh, private detective and burgeoning entrepreneur, at least in the latest novel. The crafty, stylish maven was constantly reinventing herself in Susanna Gruff's series, _Detective Walsh – Whodunit_.

Whoever was rapping at her door, afterhours, had better have a damn good reason for doing so. Lately, Don McGuire had been making a rather aggressive, yet painfully pathetic effort at 'romancing' her. She'd done everything she could think of, short of being blunt and rude to the brash farmer, to discourage his unwelcome advances. Unfortunately, the man seemed incapable of taking a hint, subtle or otherwise.

Her mind, as happened far too much of late for her liking, inexorably brought up the image of Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith and she cursed beneath her breath. The man was a wanted criminal and would never grace the front door of her clinic again, let alone touch her, not if she had anything to say about it.

It didn't matter that her imagination ran wild with her some late nights and that her mind was drawn inevitably to the memory of his lips, hot, firm and demanding upon hers, his body, taut and muscular, pressed up tight against her as his hands, surprisingly gentle, roamed her body. Blushing, she shook her head to clear it of the images before the memories got away from her and devolved into some sick and dirty fantasy.

She hoped, in equal parts, that when she opened the door, it would not reveal McGuire's lopsided stubble-covered grin, or some life and death emergency situation. Steeling herself for either undesirable possibility, she reached for the locks on the door. Before she'd moved from the main part of town, she hadn't used locks on her doors, now that she'd moved to the outskirts of town; she didn't feel safe without them.

It was an odd conundrum, most people felt safer living out in the country. She supposed that her precautions were in part due to her run-in with the A-Team four years ago, almost to the date on the calendar.

"Hold on," came the muffled reply from behind the door. Hannibal could hear the sound of locks being undone and let out a relieved sigh.

"Let me go," Dean whimpered and Hannibal spared him a brief smile.

He felt bad for not having answered any of Dean's inquiries, but he'd been so focused on getting the kid to Maggie that he didn't have any breath to spare on words.

"Just give me a minute kid," he spoke gruffly, "then I'll let you go, promise."

Dean looked up into the stranger's blue eyes and stilled as he judged the sincerity of the man's words. The old man didn't seem to be lying, but he wasn't sure that he could trust him. He fought against the panic, which was nearly overwhelming in its grip on him, and he bit back the tears which threatened to fall. Winchesters, specifically, Dean Winchester, did not cry. He hadn't cried when his mother died, and he wasn't about to cry right now, even if he didn't know who this strange man was or why he was carrying him or where his little brother was.

"Sammy…" his voice caught in his throat and he craned his head, attempting to look for his brother. The movement brought a wave of dizziness and increased the pounding in his head.

"He's alright." The man sounded tired, but truthful.

"Where is he?" Dean whispered. He couldn't see anything beyond the man's shoulder and it was dark out. The night sky was peppered with stars, which blurred in Dean's vision.

"My friend's got him."

Hannibal wasn't sure if Dean would remember the Captain in his current state of mind and had no idea how terrifying his words were to the eldest Winchester boy. He simply hadn't wanted to further confuse him by telling him Murdock had his brother when the kid might not remember the pilot's name.

Light suddenly flooded the front porch Hannibal was standing on and he sighed in relief. He was in over his head with the events of the last couple of hours and was weary beyond belief. He'd been in some difficult situations, and that was putting it mildly, but kidnapping, ghosts and who the hell knew what else, were a little out of his league. Hell, a lot out of his league. He didn't even believe in ghosts, and yet he'd been a prisoner of one for who knew how long. He needed a few moments of downtime to reassess the situation, regroup with his team, and put a plan together.

The boys needed to be returned to their father, in spite of BA's misgivings about it. He wondered how he was going to convince the big man of that, and remain relatively intact afterwards. They needed to escape the military police, as well, but, first, there were injuries which needed tending to and there was no one better suited to the occasion, in his estimation, than Doctor Maggie Sullivan.

He was looking forward to, despite the direness of the circumstances, seeing her again. There had been many a night he had dreamt of her, in spite of his attempts to rid his mind of the memory of her lips, soft and supple as they melded with his.

What he'd admired about her most the last time he'd been in town, was her spitfire temperament and the capable, coolheaded way in which she'd handled a dangerous and life-threatening situation. She was a rock and that was exactly what Dean and Face, hell, what they all needed right now. He hoped that she had not changed over the four years since their last encounter.

Dean's eyes blinked rapidly against the unexpected light and he turned his head toward the source of it in spite of the stabbing pain that it caused his head. He squinted, descrying a white door which was being slowly opened. It was disorienting and he swallowed back an onslaught of bile, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste as it burned the back of his throat and his stomach twisted in pain.

Maggie's first instinct was to slam the door shut and call the police as the man she'd just been thinking of smiled at her, her second was to give him a piece of her mind, but then her eyes shifted with his downward glance and she was propelled into action. John was clutching a pale, weakly struggling child to his chest. The Colonel's right pant leg was covered in dried blood.

As she reached out for the boy, she glared at Hannibal. She couldn't help, but speak the first words that came to mind as she looked beyond Hannibal to the rest of his team, "What the hell happened?"

_Too late for me to take my words back now,_ she thought ruefully as the kid flinched and pulled back from her, inadvertently pressing himself into Hannibal's chest as though seeking sanctuary. Hannibal glared back at her in equal measure, and for a brief second they held each other's gaze, communicating what words alone could not.

She nodded her head slightly and moved aside, allowing Hannibal to enter with the child while she led the way to the closest treatment room off to the side. She took note of his unsteady gait as he limped down the short hallway. She could see the rest of the team beyond him, and was alarmed to note that BA was carrying Face. _Just what the hell had happened?_

BA followed silently, carting Face with him. Murdock, carrying Sammy, lagged behind, looking around cautiously at the brightly lit entryway as he shut the door and locked it. He stood in the hallway, hesitant to move forward. Too much had happened in the last forty-eight hours, and none of it good.

Sammy stirred and rubbed at his eyes, yawning as he blinked. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light. His mouth twisted in a frown as he pushed at the arms holding him. He wanted down, now that he was awake.

"Hold on muchacho," Murdock said around a tight smile. He crouched down, placing Sammy on his feet and steadying him before letting go of his hold on the boy.

"Where's Dean?" Sammy asked, looking around for his big brother. He couldn't see him anywhere in the strange hallway.

"He's," Murdock scrubbed at his face, he was eyelevel with Sammy and the little boy gave him an inquiring look, "he's in that room." He turned Sammy by his shoulders and pointed toward a room on the left.

"We at a new hotel?" Sammy turned back to Murdock. He was used to moving around from hotel to hotel, but not without both Dean and his Daddy right beside him.

"Where's my Daddy?" His eyes, imploring, bore into Murdock's.

Murdock smiled tiredly, ruffling Sammy's hair as he sought for the right words with which to answer the trusting little boy. He sighed heavily, leaving his hand on top of Sammy's head and looking into his questioning eyes.

"I'm not sure," he spoke quietly. "We're gonna find him real soon, though," he hastily added as Sammy's eyes began filling with tears.

Sniffing, Sammy rubbed at his eyes and held his arms out, a silent gesture for Murdock to pick him up again.

"I wanna see Dean now Un'ca Murdock."

There was a slight tremor to his voice when he spoke and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He sniffed and burrowed his face into Murdock's chest, taking comfort in the now familiar scent of leather and spice he'd come to associate with the man who'd fast become an uncle in his eyes. The man was funny and liked to play games. He was a good man and Sammy liked him. He couldn't wait until his newest uncle met his Dad and Uncle Bobby. He was certain they'd like the funny man as much as he did.

Smiling in earnest, Murdock stood, holding Sammy close, taking comfort in the little boy's trust. His heart swelled at Sammy's unsolicited use of the moniker, 'uncle,' in relation to him. He knew that he was grinning like a lunatic, but he'd never been called 'Uncle' before and he rather liked the sound of it.

"Sure thing Sammy, Uncle Murdock's gonna take you to see your big brother straightaway," he promised.

"Colonel," Maggie addressed the felon by his former rank, knowing instinctively that he would respond better if she spoke to him with formality. It would be easier for him and the others, if she approached them with a clinical coolness rather than on an emotional level.

"Doctor," Hannibal's voice had an edge to it as he addressed her, his eyes taking in the small room and assessing it in a single glance.

His shoulders lost some of their tension as he took in the various paraphernalia associated with doctors and noted that the room had no windows. It was, at least somewhat, secure.

BA hovered in the doorway; one of Face's arm was draped over his shoulder, his other arm hung limply by his side. Maggie gasped when she got a good look at the injuries Face was sporting. She gestured for Hannibal to have a seat on the single examining table in the room and took a fortifying breath, wishing that her door had revealed the unwelcome face of Don McGuire after all. It was going to be a long, grueling night.

"Take him into the room across the hall and get him settled on the bed in there," she ordered.

BA nodded and headed to the room she'd indicated. He was worried about Face, who still had not fully regained consciousness, and cradled the man close to his chest. He was paler than he'd been three months ago, when he'd been shot.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. They'd been visiting Murdock at an Italian restaurant where the man who'd recently been proclaimed 'sane', had procured a job as a waiter, when all hell broke loose. Face had been shot. At the time, it had been iffy whether or not Face would survive the fatal stomach wound. They were all, including himself, relieved when Face had lived.

He hoped that Face's encounter with the ghost had not caused any internal bleeding or brain damage. He wanted to believe that the man whom he'd come to think of as a brother over the years, would survive his encounter with the otherworld with all of his faculties intact, but feared for the worst. He gently laid his bruised burden on the examining table.

"You better be okay," the words rumbled from his chest, but the soft tone, and his tender ministrations, belied their bark.

Maggie was amazed at how gentle the often volatile man was with his injured comrade and wondered if the case files she'd read on all of the members of the infamous 'A-Team' after her brief encounter with them, hadn't been embellished. It was apparent to her that BA was capable of gentleness and compassion. His files indicated that his temper bordered on sociopathic tendencies. Her observations now and the first time they'd met, proved to her otherwise. The man was a gentle giant, even if his gruff words and mannerisms denied it.

"Get him settled and I'll be in as soon as I'm finished here," she told BA, and returned to the room she'd assigned to Hannibal and the child. "Call me if he stops breathing," she called out.

"Yes Ma'am," BA responded, his attention solely on Face, watching the man's chest rise and fall with each ragged breath that he took.

Maggie watched Hannibal and the child covertly, gathering what she'd need to examine the two, as Hannibal carefully disentangled himself from his young charge and laid him on the table next to him. He was talking soothingly, caressing the boy's hair as he spoke, his words too quiet for her to hear. When the child struggled to sit up, Hannibal gently pushed him back on the table.

"Let me go," Dean shouted, but the words came out just louder than a whisper, "I gotta find Sammy."

"Dean, relax kid. No one's going to hurt you." Hannibal's softly spoken words had a reassuring lilt to them. "Sammy's okay. The doctor needs to take a look at you."

Dean struggled to sit up, but Hannibal's hands were firmly pinning him down, and he was no match for the man's strength. He settled for glaring daggers at the older man and cursing beneath his breath. He was frightened, but anger won out in the struggle for emotional dominance as he renewed his futile efforts to free himself and rescue Sammy.

He now remembered almost everything that had happened, but it brought him little comfort. His Dad and Bobby were not scheduled to return for another couple of days, unless, by some miracle, they'd managed to take care of the supernatural creature they'd been hunting. In Dean's four years of experience, such a miracle was a rare occurrence, if anything, he always anticipated his Dad returning several days later than he told him he would. Such mental preparation helped him deal better with his disappointed little brother and helped ease his mind so that he wouldn't worry that his father would never return.

"Let me go," his voice was hoarse, but he continued to shout, "you can't keep me here. You can't keep," his voice, much to his embarrassment, hitched, "keep me." Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks, but he refused to release them. He was so tired and his side felt like it was on fire.

Maggie smiled comfortingly as she walked over to the pair, Hannibal's eyes met hers and she saw the unspoken worry etched in them.

"Dean," Hannibal addressed the boy like he would a soldier, "I'm going to let go of your shoulders now." He met Dean's frightened gaze and held it for a few seconds before continuing, "When I do, you are going to lie still, is that understood?" Hannibal never took his eyes off the boy. The tone of his voice was sharp and unbending.

Dean clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes before nodding slightly. He could see that he was beat, that the man was bigger and stronger than him and could make him do whatever it was that he wanted at the moment. It made him feel weak and he hated it. He suddenly hated Hannibal with every fiber of his being.

Maggie wanted to ask what had happened, who the kids were, where they had come from. The words were on her lips, but she thought better of it. There would be time for explanations after she'd seen to her patients. She needed to assess their injuries first, to see if they could wait until after she'd seen to Face. He'd looked like death warmed over and she shivered at the recollection of his bruised and mottled face, his barely conscious status and his inability to support himself.

She was willing to bet that he would need her expertise first, but wanted to make sure that Hannibal and the boy were stable before she moved into the next room. Face would take up more of her time and she'd feel better if she'd seen to these comparatively minor injuries first to keep them from escalating into something worse. She didn't dare call in Doc Severson who had an office in North Springs, a few miles away, or the nurse that she'd hired when she'd opened the new clinic. It would be too risky.

"Doc," Hannibal's words were quietly spoken and she turned from her tasks to look at him, "you aren't going to call the police on us again, are you?" His voice, in spite of the apparent wariness, had a steel edge to it.

She shook her head, knowing that it was important that she answer in the negative. There was no doubt in her mind that, if she wavered even slightly, Hannibal would not hesitate to gather his men and leave.

"No, I'm not going to call the police."

"Good." Hannibal relaxed, his fingers still caressing the child's dark hair, even as the boy glared at him and batted his hands away.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Maggie asked as she approached the pair.

"Not sure," Hannibal answered.

There was a sense of uncertainty in Hannibal's voice that Maggie would never have associated with the formidable man. He was always confident and sure of himself, according to what she'd read and what she remembered of their last encounter. This almost docile man sitting in front of her, was not the same man who had nearly swept her off her feet with a heated, passionate kiss.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't sure what, if anything, he should say. Whenever he was hurt, his father had taken care of him. The one time he'd had to go to the hospital, his father had told the doctors and nurses what they needed to know, carefully not mentioning what had really happened.

Maggie bent closer to the little boy and smiled warmly at him, noting that, though his skin was pale, his cheeks were flush. She reached out to touch his forehead, but stilled when the boy flinched away.

"Can you tell me what your name is?" She asked instead, though she already knew the answer.

The boy nodded his head, swallowing before speaking. His voice came out raspy and quiet, "Dean."

"Dean, my name is Doctor Sullivan," she wanted him to know that, in spite of the robe that she wore, she was a professional, for some reason she though that would be important to the boy, "but you can call me Maggie."

When he nodded, she continued, "Is it okay if I take a look at you?"

There was a hesitation as Dean stared at her, but he must've decided to trust her, as he gave a brief nod.

His forehead was hot to the touch and Maggie coaxed a thermometer under his tongue. With a practiced eye, she scanned Dean's body for injuries. His pupils were uneven, yet reactive. He had a mild concussion which she would have to keep an eye on.

Carefully lifting the overlarge shirt, she discovered an angry red cut, no bigger than a nickel. Though the injury was small, it was inflamed and a sliver of something was lodged in it. She'd have to remove the sliver and then start him on an antibiotic drip.

Removing the thermometer, she glanced at the reading and wasn't surprised that it was a hundred and one. She'd have to give him a fever reducer to keep it from rising, but she wasn't too concerned about that happening. Once the wound on his side was tended to, the temperature would even out.

Murdock hovered in the open door, readjusting his hold on Sammy so that the little boy could see his big brother. They watched, silently, as the doctor took Dean's temperature and performed an exam.

"Unca Murd'c," Sammy whispered against his ear, tickling it, "what's a matter with Dean? He got a owie?"

Nodding, Murdock whispered, "Yeah, he's got an owie."

"Can I go sit wif him?" Sammy asked, remembering how his brother sat beside him whenever he was sick.

It always made him feel better and he wanted to make Dean feel better. Right now his big brother looked sick and scared. His eyes were wide with worry as he looked at his big brother.

Murdock recalled their first meeting, how strong and tough Dean had been. Right now, lying on Doc's table, with Hannibal sitting next to him, he looked so small and vulnerable, like a kid. Gone was the powerhouse who'd knocked him flat on his back a day ago, in his place was a hurting child. Given what little he knew about Dean, Murdock doubted that the kid would appreciate where his thoughts were taking him, so he pushed them aside in favor of focusing on Sammy, something the resilient boy being treated for an infection would no doubt approve.

"Not sure that's such a good idea muchacho," Murdock said, turning to look Sammy square in the eye. "The doctor needs to be able to work on him. You can sit with him after she's done. How's that sound?"

Sammy nodded his head enthusiastically before turning to watch the doctor work on his brother. He leaned his tired head against Murdock's shoulder, trying to ignore the growling of his stomach. It had been a long time since they'd had breakfast and they'd skipped lunch and dinner too. He was hungry, but he was more worried about his big brother, so he bit his bottom lip and pressed a hand against his stomach, hoping that it wouldn't grumble too loudly and draw attention to itself.

Murdock felt, more than heard, the low grumbling of his young charge's stomach, and smiled in spite of the circumstances. They hadn't had time to eat anything beyond a breakfast of cold cereal earlier that day and his own stomach clenched with hunger pains at the reminder.

Raising his voice, hoping that he wouldn't startle the oblivious occupants in the room, he asked, "Hey Doc, you got any food in this place?"

Maggie started at the sudden intrusion of a voice that she hadn't been expecting. She'd known that Murdock was with them, had seen him from her vantage on the porch, but, had completely forgotten all about the man as she focused all of her attention on her young patient.

She whirled around, angrily glaring at the man who'd startled her. Her gaze only lost some of its heat when she saw the little boy clinging to the man's neck. Sighing, she nodded her head and pointed to the right, the area that would lead the pilot to her living quarters.

"There's food in the kitchen," she answered, looking over the little boy, assessing him for injuries.

She noted that Murdock appeared wane and, judging by the white bandages on his head, he'd suffered a head injury of some sort. The little boy, however, seemed to be fine, physically, at least. She had no idea what events had led up to the entirety of the A-Team, including their crazy pilot, being injured, but there was no doubt on her mind that it had been traumatic.

"Let's go get something to eat while the doc's working on your brother," Murdock suggested to the little boy he held.

"'kay," Sammy mumbled, not taking his eyes off his big brother who was now looking at him.

"Dean!" he shouted, and reached out toward the other boy.

"Hey there Sammy." Dean tried to make his voice strong, but it sounded much too gravelly for his liking and he winced, hoping his brother wouldn't catch on to just how hurt he was.

"Dean!"

Sammy wriggled loose from Murdock and raced to his brother's side, jumping up to try and reach his brother. He settled for standing on his tiptoes when he realized that he wouldn't be able to scramble onto the bed with Dean.

Maggie scanned the little boy carefully; looking for any injuries she hadn't seen when Murdock had been holding him. She was relieved that, even close up, it was apparent he'd gotten through whatever had happened, virtually unscathed. She ruffled his hair and he finally looked up at her.

His clear, brown eyes held a wariness to them that she did not readily associate with children his age as he appraised her. He frowned at her and cocked his head to the side as he looked her up and down. A wide grin suddenly broke out on his face and he hugged her legs tightly before letting go and holding his arms out for her to pick him up so he could gain better access to his brother.

Maggie picked him up, chuckling and shaking her head, grateful that she'd passed his scrutiny and hadn't been found wanting in his estimation. He reached out to his older brother, and placed a hand against his cheek, patting it gently before stretching and bending to give his brother a kiss on the forehead.

"You got a fever Dean," he proclaimed when he righted himself.

"I know buddy," Dean replied, reaching out for his brother.

"Where's Daddy?" Sam looked around for their father, eyes resting on Murdock who was standing off to the other side of Hannibal.

"He," Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, as he struggled to sit up so that he could ease some of his brother's fear. Raised up on his elbows, he panted. "He's with Uncle Bobby, remember?" His head swam as a fresh wave of dizziness assaulted him.

Sammy nodded, his brows furrowed as he looked at his brother. "But you're sick," he said, confused.

Dean smiled tiredly.

"I know," he said.

Unduly exhausted, he felt his arms buckle and laid back once again, closing his eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you, Dean," Sammy promised, patting his brother's cheek again. "Daddy'll be back soon."

He didn't know when their Dad would be back, but it seemed like the right thing to say, so he said it. Dean always said that to him when he was feeling sick and it made him feel safer, and like maybe their Dad would come back soon, even if he didn't.

"You're a good brother," Dean said.

Sammy's heart soared with pride at his brother's words and he beamed.

"I'll make you all better," Sammy assured his big brother with another kiss.

"Captain," Hannibal addressed Murdock, looking pointedly at the little boy wiggling in the doctor's arms, "I'm assigning you and the half-pint here," he pointed at Sammy whose attention had been momentarily diverted from Dean at Hannibal's words, "to kitchen duty."

"It'll be our pleasure," Murdock assured Hannibal as he nodded to Sammy and walked over to extract him from the doctor's arms. "Won't it Junior Cap'n Sam?" He tickled the little boy, bringing smile to the little boy's face as well as a burst of mirthful laughter.

The boy nodded, but cast a furtive look at his brother as Murdock carried him out the door.

"Don't worry, the doc's good, she'll take care of him. He'll be right as rain, 'fore you can whistle the alphabet front and backwards," Murdock assured him.

Sammy gave the man a puzzled look as they left the room. He'd been practicing saying the alphabet under his older brother's careful tutelage, but wasn't sure if he could whistle it. He kept forgetting things like where the letter 'Q' went and was confused by what 'elemeno' meant. He hoped his new uncle would teach him, so Dean could get better.

Once Murdock and Sammy left the room, Maggie removed the ceramic splinter from Dean's side, and cleaned the infected area; she determined that it would need a few stitches rather than a butterfly bandage. Thankfully it had taken only three sutures to stitch up the small wound. She winced in sympathy as she numbed the area before beginning her work, but the boy hadn't once complained about the pain.

Something didn't seem right to her. A boy his age should be crying openly rather than sucking his breath in between his teeth and letting it out slowly to manage and mask his pain. She recalled his earlier flinch when she'd attempted to touch his forehead and her gut twisted.

Dean appeared to be a victim of child abuse, but what did the A-Team have to do with it? Were they rescuing Dean and his little brother from an abusive monster? If so, she vowed that she would help them, even if it meant becoming a fugitive herself.

Having taken care of the most pressing issue in the care of her young patient, she assessed the bruises on Dean's cheek and the swollen wound on his forehead. Ascertaining that the gouge was superficial, and appeared to have been made from a ring, she made quick work of cleaning the scratch and setting up the proper IVs, working quickly and efficiently as she did so.

Dean fell into an uneasy sleep as she worked. When she'd finished bandaging the scratch on his forehead, and hooking him up to the IVs, she turned her attention to Hannibal.

"Maggie, check on Face and BA first," Hannibal ordered.

He hadn't moved from his perch on the table and was still running his fingers through Dean's hair. She could see that he was tired and that whatever had happened had taken a lot out of him.

"There's no harm in me seeing to your leg first," she spoke softly as she worked. "I want to get it cleaned and see if it needs any stitching." She didn't mention her fear that the injury was infected, knowing that Hannibal would be all too aware of that possibility without her having to say it.

"Face is…" he trailed off, "he's hurt real bad."

"I know." Maggie cut through Hannibal's jeans and began the work of removing the wooden splinters from his swollen shin.

"He needs your help more than I do," Hannibal argued.

"And he'll get it soon as I'm done here," she spoke in clipped, angry tones as she finished removing the last of the splinters and started to clean the wound.

"I'll be fine," Hannibal said tiredly.

"And so will Face. If his condition had worsened, BA would've come in here and told me. Right now, I'm going to finish working on you, and making sure that you're both stable," she looked pointedly at Dean as she spoke, "before I go work on Face. I have a feeling that I'll be with him for the better part of the night and I don't want to be worrying about you or Dean while I'm working on him."

"Fair enough Doc." Hannibal could see that he'd lost the battle and that Maggie wasn't going to budge. His admiration for her rose even as her refusal to listen to him angered him.

She could hear the grin in his voice as he spoke and bit back one of her own as she finished patching up his leg. She was grateful that it hadn't required any stitches, and that, while the area was red and inflamed, it wasn't as bad an infection as Dean had.

"There, you're all patched up." She stood and stretched, contemplating switching out her robe with her doctor's smock before tending to Face.

She hoped that she'd spoken truthfully when she'd said that BA would've come for her if Face had taken a turn for the worse. If anything happened to the younger man because she'd been taking care of Hannibal first, she doubted that the man would forgive her or himself for it.

* * *

**A/N**: I know it has been awhile, I have re-edited every chapter. Please review, as it is greatly appreciated. Thank you, darkorangecat


	21. Fini

For disclaimer, see prologue.

**A/N**: Title for this chapter taken from the tee-shirt Murdock wore in what was supposed to be the season finale, "The Grey Team", the episode "Without Reservations" was shown after this 'final' episode.

* * *

Fini

It was a long, rough night for everyone. Murdock and Sammy served sandwiches and then retired to one of the unoccupied rooms for the remainder of the night, after Maggie had checked each of them over and taken care of Murdock's head wound.

She, along with BA and Hannibal's help, worked on Face. It was touch and go, but as the first rays of dawn touched the horizon, Maggie let out the breath she'd been holding and declared the Lieutenant stable and ushered BA and Hannibal off to sleep.

It was a good thing that it was Sunday as she didn't have office hours and the clinic would be closed. They'd have to figure something out for Monday. Right now, all she wanted to do was get into bed and catch a few hours of sleep. She checked on her youngest patient first, smiling at the picture of domesticity as Hannibal cradled the sleeping boy. Both appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

Sammy was sprawled on top of Murdock and Maggie tucked a blanket over them, brushing a lock of hair off of Sammy's face. She next checked on Face and BA, chuckling quietly at how BA was half lying on the bed and half sitting in the chair he'd pulled up next to Face.

She resisted the urge to get her camera, knowing that, as adorable as she found it, the men wouldn't appreciate the candid moment as much as she did. Maybe, after they'd left, she would sketch the scene. Who knew when she'd next get a visit from them? It could be another four years or never.

Checking the clock in her living room, she reached for her phone, placing a call that she hoped would work in her favor.

"Sheriff Wagner," the voice on the other end sounded tired, but alert.

"Sheriff," Maggie hesitated, biting her bottom lip.

"What is it Doc? You got an emergency? Need me to send a deputy up your way?"

"Uh," Maggie cleared her throat, "no, I uh, just wanted to report a sighting of the A-Team." Her voice gained some confidence as she put her plan into action. Her eyes were drawn instinctively to the hallway, hoping that she would not draw the attention of the men sleeping, blissfully unaware, a few feet away.

"What?" It had been years since the town of Bad Rock had experienced anything remotely exciting on such a level.

"They there now?" His hand moved automatically to his weapon.

Wagner's predecessor, Hank, was well known for the stories he told about his onetime encounter with the elusive ex-military unit. Truth be told, Wagner thought the man exaggerated a great deal of his story and doubted that the A-Team had ever really been in the little town of Bad Rock. The way he'd told it, they'd escaped the jail and singlehandedly run off a motorcycle gang.

"Uh, no." Maggie cleared her throat nervously.

"Are they holding you hostage? Just answer yes or no," he encouraged her, hoping that she wasn't being held against her will.

"No," she quickly answered. "I, that is," she faltered. "They were here last night, asked me to stitch one of them up, and then left. Apparently they remembered my services last time," she spoke sardonically.

"You know which way they went?" Wagner sat down at his desk, reaching for his pen.

"I think, that is, I'm not sure which direction they left in, I think it was North?"

"Uh-huh." Wagner wrote the direction down on his paper and proceeded to question the doctor, getting approximate times and a description of the injury she'd treated. He would need to get as much information as he could to pass onto the military. Maybe this would help them get a jump on the team, and he'd be a national hero.

"Give me a few and I'll be out there to see what I can see," he promised.

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary." Maggie panicked, hoping that she could keep the new Sheriff away.

"Maybe the tracks will give me a better indication of the direction they went in."

"They, uh, they covered their tracks pretty well." Maggie cursed beneath her breath. "I…do you mind coming over tomorrow? I didn't really get much sleep last night and, they're already long gone."

"Tell you what, I've got a lot to do this morning," he looked at the pile of papers on his desk and sighed. The trail wouldn't get any colder, he supposed and that paperwork wouldn't get done on its own. "How 'bout if I come by later this afternoon?" He'd send off a fax to the military, letting them know the A-Team had been through town, in the meantime.

"Not sure that you'll really find anything worthwhile," she tried again to dissuade him from making a visit. "I saw them sweep away their tracks and they left nothing behind."

Wagner sighed and scrubbed at his face. "Fine," he capitulated, "I'll be by first thing tomorrow."

"Sounds good, thank you Sheriff."

Smiling to herself, hoping that the Sheriff would contact the military and lead them away from town. She would come up with a way to waylay the Sheriff and was happy that she'd be able to have a day to come up with a plan. There was no way that Face should be traveling for a few days yet. She'd just have to figure something out to keep them there and safe.

Yawning, Maggie stretched and disrobed. Climbing in beneath the sheets, she let go of all of the anxiety and stress of the past hours and fell into a peaceful sleep after setting her alarm to wake her in a few hours so she could check on her patients.

John finally caught a break on tracking down the men who had his sons as night turned to day. Or at least he hoped they still had his sons and hadn't gotten rid of them. He couldn't imagine why a group of mercenaries for hire would take two young children with them in the first place. According to the chatter he'd been listening to on the police radio, the A-Team hadn't made any demands and had gone off the radar. They weren't holding his boys hostage.

None of what had happened on this particular hunt made much sense to the hunter. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Bobby, his head resting against the window as he slept. The older hunter sometimes grated on his nerves, but he knew that the man was right about several things, one of them being his treatment of his sons.

When this was all over and he had Dean and Sammy back, he'd take a break; see if he could reclaim some of the time he'd lost, hoping that it wasn't too late for Dean to regain the father he'd lost when his mother had died. He didn't even know if he had what it'd take to be that man again, but was determined to try.

Following the wide tire tracks which had double and tripled back over the country roads, thank god they were dirt roads; he drove along a single lane road. Trees lined either side of it and he looked for a break in the foliage which would indicate the road the other vehicle had taken. He couldn't imagine anyone else taking the time to circle back so many times, and trusted that his gut was right about the trail he'd been following, that it would lead him to the A-Team, and ultimately to reconciling with his sons.

Seeing a turnoff, he bypassed it, keeping his eyes on it as he drove past. He wanted to do this right, make sure that he was on the right trail first. It wouldn't due to make mistakes, his sons' lives might be at stake and he couldn't risk that.

He recalled everything he'd ever heard about the A-Team over the years, and knew that they'd managed to stay out of the military's reach by being careful and untraceable. Thing was, John had been hunting far more elusive entities for the past four years now and he was a ranger. He had a few tricks of his own, knew how to hide in plain sight. The A-Team wouldn't know what had hit them when he came for his sons.


	22. Grey Matter

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** It has been a long, long while. I apologize. I've been working on other projects, and decided that I would polish up this chapter. It isn't perfect, but I hope it'll do.

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Grey Matter

John scanned the predawn sky, looking for signs of the A-Team, or his sons. He didn't find any, save for a mass of tire tracks, some of which might be those he sought, but he couldn't be sure. It was impossible for him to tell whether or not the tracks were made from the infamous van that the A-Team drove.

He'd seen it pictured in the papers and on the news, and thought it rather an outlandish vehicle for a group of men on the run from the government to use. It was conspicuous and John thought it stuck out like a sore thumb with its red streak. That's why he stuck with something a little less noticeable. The Impala or a simple Ford truck were easy to conceal and brought little attention to themselves, at least from the police. He didn't mind the car aficionados checking it out on occasion.

He was exhausted and his nerves were strung taut with tension. Sammy and Dean could be lost to him forever, and it would be partially his fault for having left them on their own. He should never have entrusted their safety to that of an eight year old boy, no matter how competent that eight year old happened to be.

Bobby started awake abruptly, having been jostled as John made a rather sharp turn down a tree-lined drive. He wondered if John was ready to switch off on driving yet. They'd switched just once during their search for the boys and he reckoned he'd had enough rest for the night, and was up for driving, if only to give himself something to do other than look out the blasted window of the Impala. The sky was already growing pink and gold with the first rays of a quickly approaching dawn.

"Where're we?" He yawned and stretched as much as he was able to in the cramped quarters.

"Just outside Bad Rock," John uttered.

"You really think they would've stayed in the area?" Bobby questioned the other man.

"Not sure," John's reply was accompanied by a yawn.

"You want me to take over driving?" Bobby offered.

He had no idea where else they could look, he'd been up and down the highway all night, and wondered how the boys were faring. He'd only heard about the A-Team in passing. They, like hunters, were legends spoken about in hushed voices by people who were only halfway certain they really existed. Every now and again someone claiming to have actually met a member of the A-Team, or a hunter, been helped by them, would pop up and the story was always the stuff legends were made of, and impossible to believe.

Nothing he'd heard, whether truth or make-believe, led him to believe that Dean and Sammy were in danger of being killed by the infamous men. If anything, they had a reputation for being above reproach, save where the military was concerned. They helped – if the legend was to be believed – the helpless. They were do-gooders, like modern-day Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and wicked to give to the poor and kindly.

It was said that if you were in trouble, all you had to do was call them up and they would, for a small fee, offer their services. He wondered how much of it was true, and how much was tainted by the retelling and coloring of bias. According to the military, they were mercenaries and had broken the law. They were nothing but base criminals, worthy of incarceration, and traitors, worthy of death.

Bobby wagered that they fell somewhere in between the two extremes. A large part of him hoped that, for Dean and Sammy's sake, the men were the heroes those they'd aided claimed they were, but he was too much of a realist to completely discount what their naysayers said. Truth was, the world they lived in was rarely straight up black and white, but rather an often dismal gray.

"Sure," John said.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he got out and stretched before heading over to the passenger seat. Bobby settled himself behind the wheel and spared a sidelong glance at John. The man's bruises were already beginning to fade, but he looked worn and weary, older than he should.

"Don't worry, we'll get the boys back," he promised as he put the car into gear and headed back down the highway.

He didn't know what would happen to the hunter if they didn't. He'd barely survived his wife's death; Bobby doubted he'd survive the loss of both of his sons. Hell, he didn't know how he'd handle it himself, and the boys weren't even his.

* * *

Maggie stifled a yawn and stretched out her lower back. As she'd predicted, it had taken the better part of the night to tend to Face. She'd managed to get some of the swelling down, but was worried that there might be some bleeding on the brain. That wasn't something she could handle on her own. He would need to be brought to the hospital, and Maggie knew that it would be hard to convince Hannibal and the others that it was necessary. They seemed to think she could work miracles, and while she had worked under some pretty harrowing conditions in Viet Nam, she didn't really want to replicate any of them in her clinic.

"He gonna be okay?" BA asked her.

He'd woken earlier and had been unable to go back to sleep. He turned over on his side and took his first good look at Face since they'd arrived at Maggie's. He looked far more peaceful than he had at the farmhouse, but still far too pale for BA's liking.

"I didn't realize you were awake," Maggie said.

She brought out her stethoscope, and, in spite of the grimace that BA gave her, she placed it on his chest and listened to the steady heartbeat.

"Sounds good," she said.

"'Course it does," BA replied, "I ain't the one hurt, and you didn't answer my question."

He would have sat up, but she placed a hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

"Get some rest," she said, "Face isn't out of the woods just yet. He needs rest, and so do you."

"How's the fool and Sammy?" he asked instead.

He was wide awake now, and doubted that much sleep would come to him. There were too many things going on in his head, too many questions and too many things to worry about. He might need the rest, but he wouldn't be getting any until he had some answers.

"Murdock and Sammy are fine. I've tended to Murdock's injuries, he has a concussion. I've been monitoring him." she'd been dividing her time between Face and the pilot, and after determining that Murdock's head injury wasn't life threatening, had focused much of her energy on Face and Hannibal.

"And Hannibal?" BA asked, wondering where the Colonel had gotten off to.

Hannibal popped his head in the door. "I'm just fine BA, do as the doc says and get some rest."

"What about you?" BA sat up.

The Colonel gave him a boyish grin around the cigar in his mouth. "I'm keeping first watch." There was no mistaking that there was a twinkle in the older man's eyes. No doubt the man was on the jazz, and BA shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Where are the fool and Sammy?" BA asked. He looked around the room as best he could with the doctor's hand pushing him back, and couldn't see hide nor hair of either of them.

"They're crashed out on the couch in the living room," Hannibal replied.

"And, Dean?" BA knew that Sammy's big brother wouldn't take too kindly to being separated from him.

"He's right over there." Doc gestured toward a gurney off to the right of BA. "I've cleaned up his injury, and given him a sedative. He should sleep through the night."

Somehow BA doubted that would happen, Dean didn't strike him as the kind of kid, sedative or not, who would sleep through the night when he was on duty to watch his kid brother. It was a pity that the kid had been brought up that way, that Dean was always on alert. It wasn't any way for a kid to grow up, and BA once more wished that the boys' father was right there in front of them so that he could give the man a piece of his mind, or a good throttling. He'd settle for either right now.

"Easy there, BA." Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder and BA let out a breath of pent up air. He shook his head, wondering that the colonel could read him so easily.

"It's just, I don't get it. How could their father just leave them there, alone, and vulnerable? Especially with what he knows about ghosts and all that." BA reached out toward the bed where the towheaded boy lay, and Maggie pushed Dean's gurney closer so that he could clasp Dean's hand in his own.

Dean's skin was hot to the touch.

"It's the infection," Maggie answered his question before he could even ask it. "His body's doing a good job of fighting it off, but I have him on antibiotics."

"You know he's going to be asking about Sammy soon's he gets up," BA said, directing his comment to Hannibal.

"We'll cross that particular bridge when we get to it," Hannibal said. "Get some rest BA. I'll keep an eye on things for awhile. Sammy and Murdock are okay. Dean and Face are getting the medical attention they need."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine, had worse," Hannibal said with a shrug. "Something tells me that we're in for a long next couple of days. Get some shut-eye while you can." With that said, Hannibal left the room and BA, hand still gripping Dean's tightly, closed his eyes.

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